Sunshine with a Little Hurricane
by Marla Fair
Summary: A sequel to 'Wet Bottom Warm Heart'. After 11 year old Elizabeth Carnaby saved Little Joe's life, he promised to bring her to the Ponderosa. She arrives along with a sudden winter storm that blows in not only a little fun but a whole lot of trouble, including a killer named Fleet Rowse who is looking to make easy money by lightening the load in Ben Cartwright's safe.
1. Chapter 1

Sunshine With a Little Hurricane

There was nothing for it, Little Joe Cartwright was _one_ nervous fella.

The older man leaning against the stage depot wall watched as the young'un pushed his black hat back on his deep brown curls, shifted his weight from one dress-booted foot to the other, and ran a hand along his back hairline. Next he anchored his thumbs behind his belt. Then he rocked from to his toes to his heels several times as he peered anxiously down the street in the direction the stage would come. Looking across the street, he saw that the Ponderosa hands who were sipping a beer and lingering in front of the saloon before heading out for the Cartwright's autumn drive, were of the same opinion about Ben's youngest boy's actions as he was. So were the fine ladies standing, fanning away their jealousy on the porch of the International Hotel. Miss Abigail Jones – who had known Little Joe since he'd first attended her school and thanked the Lord that she'd survived it – must have thought the same thing as she stepped out of the mercantile noting that 'Joseph', as she called him, had his unruly hair well under control and was wearing his Sunday best. The older man, who had noted the same thing and knew what was coming, looked at his watch and calculated just how much time it would take Ben's hot-headed and hot-blooded boy to rile some suitor and start some sort of brew-ha.

In other words, there had to be a pretty girl on that stage.

Ben Cartwright's youngest son was, at not quite eighteen, already a legend in the hot, sleepy, slowly growing and over-reactive town of Virginia City. Bets were placed daily on what the handsome devil-may-care Devil would do. _Most_ concerned how long Little Joe could be in town without getting into a fight. A few best not mentioned to his Pa – indelicate ones placed and cherished by the ladies who peopled the Bucket of Blood and other establishment as yet 'officially' off limits to the reputed charger of the Ponderosa – concerned length of time and well, size, among other things. There was quite a pot waiting for the first one to find out the answers on both accounts conclusively and report them back to the others. Other bets, though, among Ben Cartwright's neighbors took on a darker dimension – how long it would be before the boy broke his neck, ended in jail, got himself a child on some innocent young thing, or ended up dead in the middle of the street after drawing on someone who proved, at last, faster on the draw than him.

Too often these bets were accompanied by a sneer of wishful thinking.

There were bets among Ben's friends as well, half-joking but serious. Doc Martin and him had one going on how many bullets Paul would pull out of the boy in the next year. Paul had remarked, upon making the bet, that he had ordered the apothecary in town to stock extra laudanum, quinine, morphine, _and_ codeine, and to hold back a stock of well-aged whiskey and brandy strong enough to knock the socks off of the boy's restless feet.

No one was sure if the whiskey and brandy were for Little Joe or for his long-suffering father.

That young'un had to be tryin' to the older man, whose head and feet were just about as firmly planted on the ground as any man's could be. When they watched the four Cartwright men ride into town, most folks shook their heads. At the lead would come stalwart, honest, shootin' straight-from-the hip, generous and grace-giving Ben. To his right would be his older boy, Adam. Adam was one of those strong, silent types the ladies drooled over, thinking there must be something deep stirring in that black-clothed well, so deep it just couldn't find its way to his pursed lips. It tickled the edges of them though, turning their tips up like a bent iron.

Wasn't a woman in Virginia City didn't want that brand.

Most of the men-folk liked Adam. He was an easy man to be around, if not to know. Adam said little, but when he did speak, men listened. There was a lot of his pa in him, but then – to those who knew him well – there was also something of Little Joe. Adam had a temper near as volatile as his baby brother, but he kept it in check right up there under that black hat of his.

Heaven help the man he tipped it to.

Then there was Hoss. Ben's middle boy was, without saying anything the stupidest man couldn't miss, a mountain. It was all there. He'd seen Hoss tower over people, stopping their chatter with his shadow alone. The big man was tall like the pines _on_ that mountain and just as firmly rooted, even if funny notions got in that big head of his and made the tops of those trees sway now and then. Hoss' heart was big as the land and a river of gentleness ran through it. Those beefy hands had the strength in them to break a man in two, but he'd never worried about Hoss.

He'd seen him rescue and hold a frightened bird without crushin' it a time or two.

No, it was just that young one of Ben's he worried about. The one standing, waiting on the stage, pacing back and forth like a mountain cat in season. As Roy Coffee pushed off the wall and headed for the landing where the stage would eventually light, he wondered if there was some tether to the boy he couldn't see. Else he didn't know how in the world Little Joe hadn't taken off like a stallion to meet that stage halfway to Carson City.

Coming up behind him, Roy paused, a slight smile lifting his lips so they tickled his mustache. "Someone important on that stage, boy?" he asked.

Little Joe jumped. Then he turned beet red. "Hey, Roy," he said, quickly swallowing over his embarrassment. "What are you doing here?"

The sheriff loped up to stand beside the boy. He pulled his watch out again and looked at it. "Waitin' on the stage, just like you. Looks to be right on time."

Joe looked toward the rumbling, rattling vehicle that had finally come into view and was moments away from pulling up in front of the depot. "Is it? Seems like I've been here forever."

'Forever' being about fifteen minutes.

The lawman snapped his watch shut. "Nope. Five-thirty on the dot." Roy paused. "Someone important on that stage, Little Joe?"

If the boy'd been any redder he would have been an Indian.

"No... Not really. Just a...friend."

Roy nodded. "Must be a mighty _important_ friend." He reached out and fingered Joe's fine duds. "You're powerful gussied up, boy." He leaned in and sniffed. "Ain't that cologne there on top of that Bay Rum you're so fond of?"

Joe's temper flared. Roy liked it when it sparked like that, snapping his nostrils open and puttin' fire in his green eyes.

It made the boy look right cute.

"That's none of your business!" Little Joe snapped.

"Well, now, I don't know as you can rightly say that, son," Roy drawled. "You see, I'm sheriff in this here town and, well, _everythin'_ is my business. Let's say that young lady your waitin' on steps off that stage and some other feller sees her and thinks she oughta be his. Could mean trouble."

Joe's reaction was priceless, even if Roy wasn't entirely sure what it meant. Those supple eyebrows of his dipped and then lifted toward the pile of ornery curls dangling on his forehead. Joe's tightly pressed lips tightened and then one end slid up real slow-like toward that little pert nose he got from his dead mama. Then he started to laugh.

Lord, the angels listened when that boy laughed!

"Roy, I promise you I can whip anyone with a romantic interest in Bella," Joe said, snorting in tear-snot.

"Sounds like a might pretty lady," Roy replied, one grizzled eyebrow arched, not quite believing it.

Joe Cartwright was a little feller. Couldn't have weighed more than a man-size bag of grain. He'd seen his brothers take him up in one swing and throw him over their shoulder and haul his sorry hide out of a lot of places he shouldn't have been. But he was a tough one. Joseph Francis Cartwright had been kicking and screaming from near the moment he drew breath and that was bound to make a man strong in more ways than one.

As bound as it was to wear just about everybody else out.

"Oh," Joe said, having better luck taming his laughter than his hair, "she's a _beauty_ all right. Bella's got hair the color of sunshine coming out of Heaven; long, curly as a sheep's winter coat, and just as thick. She's got the face of an angel." Joe extended his hand out as if paintin' a picture. "She's got eyes wide as the moon and deep blue as a night without stars." The boy leaned in close, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But they've got stars in them, Roy. They sparkle like moonlight hitting water."

He could use a few lessons in poetry, but it was easy to see the boy had it bad.

Roy's eyes went to the stage. It had finally found roost and sat like a red hen waiting to give up its eggs. He looked over his glasses at it and nodded. "Door's openin', prince charmin'. Don't you think you best be seein' to your lady friend?"

Little Joe's impish eyes held his for just a second. Then he leaned in again and winked. "This is the one I'm gonna marry, Roy. I'm tellin' you."

Just like Little Joe had told him at least _twice_ a year since he'd been old enough to know what a girl was for.

Roy watched as the young man pivoted lightly on his heel and headed for the disembarking passengers. Little Joe stood with his hands linked behind his back, burdened by a boundless energy that kept him bouncing on his feet. The first passenger off was an overweight, stuffy middle-aged businessman. The minute his gator shoes hit the boardwalk he was complainin' about the dust and the heat and just 'bout everythin' else. Close behind him was a tall rail-thin man wearing a black suit with a white collar around his neck.

The lawman smiled. Good. That there parson showin' up would go someway toward making Little Joe more temperate in the thoughts he was having about that young lady.

Following the preacher was another man and then – my, oh, my, the boy hadn't been stretchin' the truth any! – a stunning young lady in a form-fitting sapphire silk gown, with golden ringlets spilling onto her shoulders and a face to stop a stage. No, that wasn't sayin' enough. That there face and figure could have stopped one of them eastern trains runnin' at full tilt. She looked to be a few years older than Little Joe, maybe _more_ than a few. As the thought crossed his mind that Ben was gonna be none too happy about his youngest courtin' another Julia Bulette, the lady favored Little Joe with a beautiful warm smile.

And walked on.

That left the aging sheriff scratchin' his head.

Joe glanced over at him. His green eyes were dancin' and he was doin' the best he could not to start giggling like a girl. Turning back, he held out a hand. A young lady's appeared to take it.

Maybe he oughta rephrase that.

A _very_ young lady's.

The girl was no bigger than a minute; skinny as a filly and barely nigh high to Joe's chest. The top of her curly golden head ended at the bottom of the black silk tie the boy'd anchored around the collar of his fancy white shirt. Roy shifted to the side to get a look at her face and what he saw there near set him to giggling as hard as Ben's baby boy had been before.

If that wasn't love, he'd never seen it.

"Little Joe!" the girl cried out, bouncing just like the young'un had been on her toes. "Hey, little brother! You been behavin' yourself?"

Roy's plentiful brows peaked. There was a story _there_ , he was bettin'.

"Hey, big sister!" Joe exclaimed as he reached down and caught her in his arms and then hefted her up to his height. "Ain't been in one lick of trouble since I saw you."

Little Joe was holding the girl in his hands near perpendicular to his body. Her feet, which were wearing a pair of fancy black dress boots, ended at his knees. She reached out and touched his face gently, lovingly. Then she scowled. "Are you tellin' me the truth, Little brother? You ain't done _nothin'_ wrong?"

Roy cleared his throat. "Maybe you'd best be askin' me, Miss," the lawman said, hiding his smile and trying hard to look like a big bad sheriff. Just to emphasize _how_ big and bad he was, he let the tips of his fingers brush the firearm at his side.

They both turned to look at him. Little Joe's look was amused – and wary. Poor kid. He wasn't really all that much older than his 'lady'.

Joe released the girl and she walked right up to him. "You're Roy Coffee, aren't you?" she asked.

He glanced at Joe. "You been tellin' tales, boy?"

"Who? Me?" Joe shook his head. "Never."

Roy knelt so he was on the girl's level. "I take it you're Bella."

She held her hand out. "Elizabeth Annabelle Carnaby. My Pa calls me Bella. I told Little brother he could too."

The name sounded slightly familiar, like something out of a tale told on a cold night by the campfire. Like the files in his office, Roy fingered back through the memories. Ben. Last year. On the porch at the Ponderosa tellin' him how Joe'd been hurt. No bullet this time. Caught in a fire. This was after they'd brought the boy home, and after he and his posse'd hunted down the men what left Little Joe in a burning cabin for dead.

The sheriff shoved his hat back on his thinning hair. "Well, I'll be hornswoggled! This is the little gal what done pulled you out of harm's way and saved your sorry hide, ain't it, Little Joe!"

Elizabeth Carnaby beamed like that sunshine Ben's youngest had compared her blonde hair to.

Roy stuck out his hand. Growing solemn as she took it, he said, "I want to thank you, Miss Carnaby, for saving the life of one of Virginia City's finest citizens. You ain't got any idea what you did for this here town." His gaze shot to Little Joe. "Why, I don't know what I'd do if this here boy wasn't around anymore."

'Cept have more hair and fewer wrinkles, and _drink_ a whole lot less.

Joe had his hands locked behind that their fancy pin-striped suit coat he was wearin'. He was bouncing on his toes again and lookin' at the sky.

"Ain't that right, Little Joe?

Joe winced.

Roy stood. "Now if you're planning on takin' this young lady out to the Ponderosa tonight, don't you think you'd best be on your way? You got a long road and its gettin' dark." He paused and looked at the boy. "I take it Elizabeth's here for a visit?"

The little girl answered. "After I put Little Joe in the water and pulled him out – and he wasn't out of his head no more – he promised me I could come visit him this winter when he didn't have a heap of chores to do. Ma and Pa are comin' too, 'cause Mister Cartwright – that's Joe's Pa – invited all of us to stay for the _whole_ winter, but they had to stop in Silver Springs 'cause Ma's sister had a baby and she had to help take care of it for a while. They got my other little brother, Jack, with them, so's now he gets to be a big brother, I guess, even though he's little and he's just a cousin. Since it's Ma's sister, that makes him a cousin, don't it?" She finally drew a breath and added with a scowl, as if everything she'd said had headed toward that conclusion. "Jack's four now and he's a handful."

Must run in the family, Roy thought.

He looked from Elizabeth to Joe. Heaven help Ben Cartwright.

Now he had _two_ of them!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright glanced at his companion. They were riding in his pa's surrey. It was almost dark. Elizabeth was bundled up against the cold, and her small form and face were near invisible. Yes, sir, it was kind of hard to see her, but – Boy howdy! – could he _hear_ her. Joe grinned. He knew what Adam would have said if he'd been riding along with them instead of being out on the open range with Hoss.

' _I would never have believed it, little brother. Someone who talks more than you!'_

Chatty women usually bored him, but there was something about this _particular_ chatty 'would-be' woman that charmed him instead. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't talkin' about the latest fashion or how much she paid for her hat or – even more important – about herself. He learned at the start of their journey – along with just about everything else her family had ever done, was going to do, and might _ever_ do – that this was Elizabeth's first trip on a stagecoach by herself and that she was excited because she'd never been alone in a stagecoach before or this far south or west. She'd made a couple of trips to her aunt's house when she was little, she said, but that didn't count 'cause she didn't remember them and she didn't do it on her own two feet, her being a 'baby and all' and only able to crawl. She thought she might have been able to remember crawlin' even though she didn't remember the trips, because she remembered her knees hurting real bad, and when she'd checked her brother Jack's knees when he crawled, his were red, so she figured hers must have been too.

Had Joe crawled when he was a baby, she asked?

No. _His_ only problem with the late night trip to the Ponderosa so far was stifling so much laughter it made his stomach hurt.

Joe shook his head and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Nope. I never crawled."

"How come?" his young passenger asked. "Pa says its good for babies, though Ma tells him all the experts say he's wrong."

"Well, now, I don't rightly remember this, but my brothers tell me that the moment my feet hit the ground I was on the move," he said as he urged the horses on. The animals were tired. He should have stopped to let them rest, but he wanted to make the Ponderosa before sun down. "They said my Mama had such a hard time keepin' up with me that she just let me go. Hoss said if I'd of had wings, I would have flown right up to the top of one of our Ponderosa pines."

"Boys can't fly, silly," she pronounced.

"I don't know." Joe pursed his lips and shook his head. "Seems nobody told me that, and what a body doesn't know, can't stop him."

He could see Elizabeth's profile cut against the rays of the dying sun, including her pert little turned-up nose. "Are you tellin' me the truth, Little Joe?" she asked.

Joe grinned. "No, I'm just joshin'. You're right. Boys can't fly." He paused, remembering how his youthful antics had aided in his father's hair turning to silver. "But I thought I could. I climbed right up to the top branch of one of those pines when I was a little younger than you."

"What happened? Did you really try to fly?"

He laughed this time. "Not on purpose. I fell out of the fool thing. Put my shoulder out of joint and broke my left leg."

She shook her head. "Boys sure are stupid sometimes."

"They are, are they?" he snorted. "And I suppose you, bein' a girl, ain't ever done anything stupid?"

Perfectly serious, she replied, "Of course not. Girls are way smarter than that. I bet your Mama never climbed to the top of a great big old tree and tried to fly."

No. She'd just ridden into their front yard on a feisty horse, hell-bent-for leather, and died.

When he said nothing, Elizabeth leaned in closer, studying him. After a moment, she asked, "Will your Mama be there when we get to the Ponderosa? I'd like to meet her." She paused and then added shyly. "I bet she's pretty as you are."

For a moment Joe had no response, her second statement having taken him completely off-guard. He decided to ignore it for now and deal with her question first.

"I never got a chance to tell you. My mama died when I was younger than you, Bella. I was just a little older than Jack. I was about five."

Elizabeth thought about that for a long time. Finally she asked, the puzzlement obvious in her voice, "So your Pa raised all three of you _all_ by himself?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighed. It was _so_ deep a sigh the horses looked back at her.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"Ma always says a man can't see the forest for the trees and if it was left up to him to raise up a child all on his lonesome, there wouldn't be one woman who'd want anything to do with what he raised."

It was a good thing it was dark. She couldn't see him smiling.

"And your mama's always right?"

"Sure thing." Elizabeth fell silent again. He heard her shift and turn so she was looking toward the sunset.

"Leastwise, she's always been 'til now."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright shifted back in his desk chair. He argued with himself for half a minute and then rose and went to look at the tall case clock by the door. While Joseph and his young guest were not exactly late, he had expected them well before now. The stage was due in around five-thirty and it was now going on midnight. The twenty mile ride, taken at a good clip, should have taken no more than five and a half hours without mishap.

It was the thought of that 'mishap' that had him worried.

Whatever the reason, his youngest seemed to draw trouble to himself like a bear cub knee-deep in honey drew angry bees. Sometimes it wasn't Joseph's fault. As a young boy, Joseph had often been the target of bullies and boys twice his size who wanted to lord it over his son, whom they saw as a spoiled rich boy. While Joe _had_ been known to take advantage of his position as youngest, and there were times when 'spoiled' fit – and not by a long stretch – the boy had never cited his wealth or used it to unfair advantage with his contemporaries. Joseph took it as a point of pride to make it on his own without counting on his connections. Still, his beloved son by his late wife Marie often came home with bruises and a nosebleed. Every time he would ask him what happened, it seemed Joe had taken a different 'fall'.

'I fell off the steps, Pa.' 'I fell off my horse.' 'I lost my footing and fell into the pond.'

And on and on.

So, whenever Joseph was late – even the slightest _bit_ late – he began to worry. His older boys told him he was overprotective of the youngest member of the family. Ben shook his head as he walked toward the door. Maybe he was. No, he most _certainly_ was.

But it was with _reason._

"Mistah Ben worry about Little Joe?" a soft voice asked from beside him.

He didn't know how Hop Sing did it. Their Chinese cook moved like a shadow.

Ben cleared his throat. "I was just going out for a breath of fresh air. Joe will be along soon. He's not that late."

Yet.

"Little Joe come all the way from Virginia City with little missy, yes?" Hop Sing was holding a stack of towels and had been headed toward the stair. "Long way from there. Take many hours. Maybe stage come late. Maybe tree fall across road. Maybe Little Joe take little missy for soda before he comes home."

He'd made all those points with himself. It didn't help.

"Maybe."

The Chinese man nodded. "Hop Sing understand. Mistah Ben's love for his boys fierce like dragon. Worry much. Why you not find something to do other than worry? Need towels in little missy and Little Joe's rooms." Hop Sing offered him the pile of linens. "Honored grandfather always say, a man grows most tired while standing still."

Ben hid his smile. He was pretty sure he had just been admonished.

He was reaching for the towels when he heard buggy wheels rolling into the yard. The silver-haired man exchanged a relieved look with Hop Sing.

"That's them!" he said with a smile.

The other man nodded. "You go greet number three son and little missy. Very late. Both be tired. Hop Sing take towels upstairs so room for missy ready."

Ben clapped his friend on the shoulder and then opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. As he watched the buggy slowly roll to a stop near the barn, he frowned. Joseph knew to pull the rig right up to the front of the house to let his young passenger disembark.

What was his son thinking?

Ben was halfway to the buggy when he realized something was wrong. The first thing that clued him in was the horses' behavior. They whinnied and shied at his approach. The one on the left snorted and shook himself and then reared back, bumping the surrey and making the black fringe on its top swing wildly. Ben spoke soothingly to the animals as he approached them, even though his own heart was pounding fiercely in his chest.

It was dark and there was very little light in the yard, but a blind man couldn't have missed it.

There was no one in the buggy.


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

Joe pulled off his dress boot and looked at his foot. Then he glanced at the youngster in front of him who was twirling in circles; her skirts flying like a girl at a cotillion. A short time before, the moon had broken free of a low-lying bank of clouds and its light shone steadily on the Virginia City road.

Which was a good thing because they'd lost the surrey and were going to have to walk.

Elizabeth thought it was a great adventure. She'd been skippin' and dancin' ever since the horses had spooked and taken off for home without them. About nine-tenths of the way to the Ponderosa she'd told him she needed to relieve herself powerful bad. He couldn't see trying to make a little girl hold it for another hour, but at the same time it made him uneasy to think of her walking into the woods alone. It was something he hadn't thought about. He was used to traveling with his brothers and, well, when they had to go they just did – right there in front of each other, or maybe they took a step or two into the woods. Didn't matter which. So when Elizabeth said she had to go, he'd had her hold on until they got to a spot where the trees were right up against the road and, once she went into them, he'd never been more than six feet away. He'd helped her down and walked her to the trees and then gone back to the surrey to wait. Everything would have been fine if near a half-dozen things hadn't happened all at once. There was a shot in the distance. Someone shouted and a hoot owl flew overhead. It just so happened that at exactly the same time Elizabeth appeared out of the trees wavin' her arms and singin' at the top of her lungs. The horses started shying and whinnying and snorting, and then sure proof came of how little God loved him.

A deer dashed across the road.

He'd screamed at Elizabeth to keep back and then grabbed the reins and held on for all he was worth, trying to keep the team from running. All he got for his effort was fingers so stiff he couldn't make a fist and the pattern of a buggy wheel painted in trail dust across his dress boot.

Plus a crushed foot inside it.

He was sitting there now, staring at it, watching it swell to twice its normal size and wonderin' how in the _heck_ he was going to manage to walk all the way home.

"That don't look so good." Elizabeth had finished twirling and was looking at his foot. "You should of moved out of the way."

His eyes flicked to the girl as he momentarily wondered if she was related to Adam.

"Oh. You think so?"

"Sure. Your boot ain't gonna fit anymore. Ma says walkin' outside without your shoes on is like lickin' your finger after you stuck it in a beehive. Feels good at the start, but there's a wallop at the end."

"Seems to me your Ma's got somethin' to say about just about every situation," he groused as he gingerly worked his inflamed foot back into his boot. "She can't _always_ be right."

Elizabeth drew a breath and let it out slow as she shook her head. "Pa says ain't no woman ever been so right about so many things and so willin' to share it. She knows so much about everything, he says, that knowledge just spills right out of her brain and onto her tongue and then its gotta go somewhere."

Joe hid his snort in the mild cussing he did as his foot slipped into place in the boot. " _Gosh-darn it!"_ he exclaimed as tears came into his eyes.

"That's what Pa says too."

That did it. Deep inside him all that laughter he'd been corralling like a wild pony broke free. Coupled with the pain he was in, it made him giddy and set him laughing, and then snorting, and then crying and coughing until he was doubled over and laying on the ground.

Elizabeth tilted her head, put her hands on her hips and scowled, doing just about the best imitation of his old spinster teacher, Abigail Jones, he had ever seen.

"You ain't got the good sense God gave you, little brother," she sighed.

Still giggling, tears streaming down his face, he smacked the ground with his hand. "Stop it! You're killin' me!"

She walked over to him and stood looking down, shaking her head. "I'd stop that if I were you. You're like to bust a blood vessel."

Joe sucked in another peal of laughter. He didn't know _how_ he was going to survive a whole winter with this child! Unexpectedly, a wave of sympathy for his two older brothers swept over him.

 _They'd_ made it eighteen years.

Elizabeth's lips were puckered. She was holding out her hand. "Are you done yet?" she said, channeling her overly-serious mother.

He snorted in air and nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I am," he said as he reached for it. As soon as he was on his feet, Joe sucked in a cry. It felt like someone had taken a hot poker to his foot.

His youthful guest looked up at him. "Put your arm around my shoulder. You can lean on me."

He wasn't a big or heavy man, but he was definitely too much for her to support for long. Joe shook his head. "Pa will be missing us and he'll come or send someone after us soon. I think we're just gonna have to sit this one out."

As he said it, he heard a noise. It sounded like a rig coming down the road. The funny thing was, it was coming from behind them instead of in front of them. Instantly on the alert Joe pulled his pistol from its holster and moved to stand in front of Elizabeth.

"Little Joe, what's wrong?" she asked.

He tried to sound reassuring. "Probably nothing. It's just best to be prepared."

Seconds later a fancy black buggy pulled into view. Since it was near midnight or after, Joe regarded it and its occupant as a threat. There was little good reason that anyone would be out on the road this late. 'Course, that included them too! He limped to a position in the middle of the road, put Elizabeth behind him, and then put his weight down on his injured foot.

Fortunately it was dark and whoever it was wouldn't be able to see the tears in his eyes.

The rig slowed and then pulled up short. Joe watched as a long lean man unfolded from the seat on the driver's side and exited to stand beside it. There was a moment's hesitation, as if the newcomer was as unsure of him as he was of them, and then, a thin, reedy voice called out.

"Elizabeth Carnaby. Dear girl!"

"Reverend?" the little girl replied. "Reverend Godfrey?!"

Before Joe could stop her, Elizabeth was skipping over to the rig.

He hobbled after her.

The reverend knelt and took Elizabeth by both arms. "Child, what are you doing walking on the road so late?" He hugged her and then rose to his feet and looked at him. "And who is your companion?"

"This is my little brother!" she beamed.

"Little Joe?" Godfrey asked.

Joe rolled his eyes. He held his hand out. "Joe Cartwright, Reverend Godfrey."

The older man was grinning. "I remember you from the stage depot. You're Ben Cartwright's son?"

The question took him by surprise. "Yes, sir."

"The youngest one, I bet. Adam would be, what, thirty now?"

"Thirty-one." Joe was frowning. "Do you know Pa?"

He nodded. "I am on my way to take up a position in California. Over the years I have read about Ben Cartwright and his accomplishments in the newspaper reports. He's come a far way from the young man I became aware of in Boston all those years ago. When I knew I would be passing through Virginia City, I made up my mind to look him up." The reverend sighed. "There were no rooms to let in town due to the extra men in from the drives. I decided to take my chances and see if I could get an old friend to put me up for a night or two."

The reverend looked to be in his mid-fifties. He might have four or five years on Pa.

Relieved, Joe grinned. "We've got plenty of room, Reverend. You'll be welcome."

The rail-thin man held out his hand. "Atticus, please. No need to stand on social conventions among friends."

Joe ran a hand along the back of his neck. "You're a sight for sore eyes – and my sore foot, Atticus." He let his gaze wander to Elizabeth. "Bella here was gonna prop me up all the way home."

The older man's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Miss Carnaby is quite a determined young lady. We spent many hours together on the stage becoming acquainted. She spoke quite well of you." The reverend paused. "I understand you two are to marry one day," he said with a smile.

Joe glanced at Elizabeth and then nodded solemnly. "I promised her, and a Cartwright always keeps his promises."

"I'm sure he always does." Atticus smiled as he turned to Elizabeth, "May I help you into the rig, Miss Carnaby?"

"I was wonderin' if you forgot I was here," she said sulkily.

"Oh!" Joe laughed. "Couldn't _nobody_ forget about you. You're unforgettable!"

The little girl's frown turned into a smile as she took the reverend's hand and boarded the rig. A moment after they took their seat, Joe carefully climbed into the passenger seat behind them.

An hour and a half later they were home.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He'd been at the door, hat in hand, ready to go to the barn and mount Buck and take off toward Virginia City, no matter how late or how dark it was, when Ben Cartwright heard a rig rolling into the yard. He had spent the last hour sitting by the fire, at war with himself as to whether or not to go. Joseph was nearly eighteen now and a man in many ways. Still, and perhaps this was his own fault, he was much younger at that age than either of his brothers had been. Adam, of course, had been forced to grow up too quickly due to the circumstances of their life. Hoss, well, Hoss had looked like a man at twelve and that was how men treated him. His middle son's nature – quiet, steady, sure of himself and confident in what he could do – had brought quick respect, especially among the ranch hands. Joseph was another matter. Most everyone loved him – how could they not with his quick smile and engaging laugh? But Little Joe was quixotic. As high as he was one minute, he was low the next. And that boy had a temper. He had been too indulgent, he knew. Maybe he had even done it on purpose.

With Joseph grown he would, in a way, be all alone.

"You're hopeless as an old woman," Ben muttered to himself as he took hold of the door latch and lifted it. Going outside, he watched as a rig pulled into the yard. In the front seat he could see a man with a little girl beside him. When he stepped down and approached the vehicle, he realized the man was not his son. For a moment panic seized him. Then he saw his beautiful boy seated in the back seat. Joe was leaning over and saying something to the girl whom he recognized as Joe's 'big sister', Elizabeth Carnaby.

"It's about time you two showed up," he groused as he came to the side of the rig.

Little Joe knew the tone and knew as well that he was in trouble – but only a little.

"Sorry, Pa," his boy said as he waited for Elizabeth to debark. "We had to make a stop – lady's business – and the horses spooked. 'Fore I could do anything about it, they were flying home. Thankfully the reverend came along."

Ben looked at the older man standing beside the rig. He was bone thin and about six feet tall. He was wearing a black parson's suit with a tall white collar and had graying hair that might have once been brown. It was hard to tell in the moonlight. The man had a protruding Adam's apple mounted square in the center of his long neck and a matching aquiline nose. Ben hid a smile. He reminded him of the illustrations of Ichabod Crane from Washington Irving's ghost story 'Sleepy Hollow'.

He was about to introduce himself when Joseph stepped out of the rig. His son drew in a sharp breath as his left foot hit the ground. Ben looked at him.

There were tears in Joseph's eyes.

"Son. What's wrong?" he asked while resting his hand on the boy's shoulder.

Brave as ever, Joe tossed off both his hand _and_ his concern. "I'm fine, Pa. I just twisted my foot."

"You ain't supposed to lie, little brother," Elizabeth scolded as she came alongside him.

Ben smiled at the little girl. It had been about six months since they'd met. She was growing like a weed.

"And how are you, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked.

"I'm right as rain, Mister Cartwright, but Joe's hurtin'. He ain't tellin' you the truth. The carriage ran over his foot and smashed it." She scowled. "It looks yucky."

He spun toward his son. "Is that true, Joseph?"

Ever eager to prove he was a man, Joe answered, "It's nothin' I can't take, Pa."

Ben stepped up to him and looked into those green eyes, measuring what he saw there and not liking it at all. The boy was obviously in a good deal of pain.

He placed his arm around Joe's shoulder. "Lean on me. We need to get you inside so I can take a look at your foot."

"Mister Cartwright."

He looked down at Elizabeth. "Yes, dear?"

"Ain't you forgetting somethin'?"

Ben frowned. Then he had it. Looking over at the parson, he apologized. "Forgive me, reverend. Please, come with us. You're welcome in our home."

"Pa?"

"Yes, Joseph?" he asked as they began to hobble toward the house.

"The Reverend Godfrey says he knew you back in Boston."

He looked at the other man. There were no bells. "Oh."

"It was a long time ago, sir. You might not remember me. You would remember my brother Leander better."

Ben nodded. How could he forget a name like Leander Godfrey? "Of course, I do. You must be the older brother who went to seminary in England."

"That would be me," he smiled.

Joe looked a little dazed, but then it could have been from the pain. "I thought you said 'you' knew Pa."

The tall man shrugged. "I said I knew 'of' him. From my brother. We did meet once, if you remember."

He didn't.

"Well, anyway, you are welcome. Elizabeth," Ben said with a nod, "would you please get the door?"

As the little girl shot past, headed for the house, Joe moaned.

The older man shook his head. Thirteen hours out of his sight.

It might have been a record.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hop Sing scowled as he carefully lifted a pail of steaming hot water from the kitchen stove. As he headed to the great room, he let out a string of Chinese words calculated to make his ancestors blush. It wasn't that he was angry or put out. Not in the slightest. He had simply learned long ago that if a man was going to be a part of the Cartwright's lives, he had to find a way to dispel the demons of worry and anxiety. By the standards of his country Mistah Adam had been a man when he came to the Ponderosa, and Mistah Hoss, well on his way to being one. Mistah Cartwright's number three son had still been in his mother's arms and when those arms were taken away by death, he – more than anyone else – had tended to the child. Little Joe had grown up in his kitchen, helping with all the small chores, and he had found pleasure and purpose in answering the small boy's endless questions. In his own way, he had helped to teach him to be a man, showing him by example that there was no room for complaining, that everything had its reason and purpose, even sliced thumbs and burnt forearms. All too soon Little Joe had joined his brothers and father doing ranch work, but he still visited – often late at night – and would sit for an hour or two helping him peel and slice and dice.

He loved Little Joe as if he had been his own.

When Hop Sing entered the room, he found only Mistah Ben and his number three son there. Missy Elizabeth had gone upstairs to the room prepared for her and the holy man with the chicken neck had followed shortly after. While Mistah Ben made Little Joe comfortable, he had taken up towels and prepared the extra guest room. The boy was seated now in the big blue chair by the fire. His injured foot, having been given permission, lay propped on a pillow on top of the table that fronted the last Mrs. Cartwright's elegant settee. The boy's foot was the color of a dragon's breath and swollen to nearly twice the normal size. Beside him, seated on the table, was his father. The elder Cartwright had one hand under his son's foot and ran the other gently, tenderly over the bruised flesh.

"Tell me when it hurts, Joe," he said.

Joe grimaced. "Can I just tell you when it _doesn't?"_

Mistah Ben stopped. He reached out with his hand and cupped the back of Little Joe's curly head. "Son, if its that bad I should send one of the men for Paul tomorrow morning."

"Ah, Pa..."

"Joseph." Mistah Ben waited. "I need the truth. I'm supposed to ride out to meet your brothers soon and I am not about to leave you alone with that little girl unless I feel you can handle yourself. Paul coming out doesn't mean I won't." His tone softened. "As a matter of fact, his opinion might go a long way toward letting me know I _can_."

Number three son mumbled something as Hop Sing sat the pail of water down on the hearth.

Mistah Ben's eyes flicked to him and he nodded his thanks. "What was that, Joe?"

Little Joe's brown curls tumbled over his green eyes. He looked exhausted. But then again, they probably all did.

It _was_ two o'clock in the morning.

Joe huffed. "I said, Doc Martin told me that if he had to come back to the Ponderosa one more time this year to cut a bullet out of me, pull out an arrow, or patch up one more broken bone he was gonna recommend you turn me over to some university for medical study."

Mistah Ben snorted.

Hop Sing did too, but he pretended it was the steam that made him sneeze. "Water ready to clean Little Joe's foot," he said, offering the older man a hot, wet cloth.

"Thank you, Hop Sing." As he nodded his head, his employer asked his son. "Well?"

Number three son sank back into the chair. "I suppose you better send for Paul."

Ben Cartwright nodded as he laid the hot cloth on his son's swollen foot. The boy sucked in air and then seemed to relax. A second later his familiar grin appeared.

"At least this time I ain't got a fever."

"No, you _haven't_ ," the older man replied, rapping his son's big toe so he yelped. "Yet."

"Mistah Ben ready for ice?" Hop Sing asked.

The older man nodded. "Yes, and while you're at it, go to the cupboard and bring one of the bottles of brandy over here."

Joe looked puzzled. "You gonna pour brandy on my foot, Pa?"

"No, I'm going to pour it in a glass," Little Joe's father sighed. "I need a drink."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe lay on his bed with his hands linked behind his head. His injured foot was propped on a pillow and there was a plate of some kind of cookies and a hot pot of tea on the bedside table. He hated to admit it, but there were times when he kind of liked being fussed over. Leastwise when it was Pa and Hop Sing who were doing it and neither of his brothers was around to make fun of him.

Hop Sing would have one of his conniption fits and tell him it was 'foolishness' if he knew it, but he kind of thought of him as the ma he never had.

Joe'd spent a lot of hours of his boyhood in 'Hop Sing's palace', as he thought of the Ponderosa's kitchen. After all, there was _no_ denying who was emperor there. Even Pa was afraid to move a spoon from a rack without asking. All Joe had to do was close his eyes and breathe deep and he could smell the Chinese man's cooking – coffee simmering, an apple pie in the oven; a big fat beef roast sitting next to it with onions and potatoes swimming in the drippings surrounding it. Hop Sing would often sing softly under his breath while he cooked. Usually some old Mandarin tune. When he'd ask about learning the words to those songs, Hop Sing had tried to teach him, but his tongue always got stuck on them like a wayward steer on barbed wire. When he caught him mangling the Mandarin, the Chinese man would narrow his black eyes, scowl, and scold him about not speaking Chinese proper using even _more_ Chinese. When he did, Joe'd jam his fists into his hips and shout back in some kind of gibberish until they both start giggling, and then they'd end up on the floor, laughing so hard that they'd forget about that fat old beef roast and the onions and potatoes and let them shrivel up like a day in the desert.

His eyes were crinkling and his nose wrinkling, and a smile twisted his lips as a knock came at the door.

"Come in!" Joe called.

A familiar dark head peeked in the door. "Mistah Joe feel better?" Hop Sing asked as he stepped in.

Joe grinned. "Thanks for the pillow, Hop Sing. And the tea and cookies."

The Chinese man came into the room and looked at him. With a frown, he anchored one fist on his hip. "Mistah Joe got all wrong," he said, shaking a finger. "Pillow for head." He pointed at the table with the tea and cookies. " _Other_ for foot!"

Joe's mobile brows jumped. "You mean, I'm supposed to feed the tea and cookies to my foot?"

Hop Sing sighed so deeply the chasm it created probably beat the Grand Canyon by a mile.

" _What_ Hop Sing do with Little Joe? Number three son smart. Hop Sing say so. Smarter than Mistah Adam and Hoss together." The scowl deepened. "Number three son on purpose make fool of Hop Sing?"

He was feeling really bad. "What'd I do? There's a plate on my table and its got round things on it. For gosh sakes! What else would I think it was?" Joe paused. The smile returned. "You really think I'm smarter than Adam and Hoss put together?"

That smile ran away right fast.

"Ever since Little Joe little boy, Hop Sing use Chinese medicine. You no pay attention!" Hop Sing bustled over. "Cakes made from _yanhusuo_ plant. Put in tea and soak foot."

Joe eyed the cakes. "You mean you ain't supposed to eat them?"

Hop Sing had put the cakes in a bowl and was pouring the tea over them. He paused to look at him, a mixture of exasperation and sympathy in his dark eyes.

"Little Joe not eat one..."

" _Only_ one. I thought it was kind of dry." Suddenly panicked, Joe asked, "Am I gonna die?"

The Chinese man sighed. "Little Joe not die." Shaking his head, Hop Sing quietly began to move some of the furniture in his room out of the way, pushing chairs to the side and clearing a path to the corner that held the chamber pot.

"What're you doing?" Joe asked, puzzled.

" _Yanhusuo_ do one of two things to number three son. Make _velly_ sleepy, or make run very much."

Joe snorted. "I ain't runnin' with this foot."

At that moment his insides turned over, gurgling like a hot water spring bubbling up through a hole in the ground, and he felt sick.

Hop Sing shook his head.

"Little Joe's feet not what run."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright stepped out of his bedroom and stared down the hall toward his son Joseph's room. He scratched his head and stood there, listening, wondering what the boy was up to now. He could hear Joe talking and Hop Sing answering, so even though the noises were odd – strange grunts, the sound of feet shuffling across the floor – he decided to leave them be.

Turning in the opposite direction Ben headed for the guest bedroom where he had left Elizabeth Carnaby sleeping earlier. He'd had Hop Sing prepare the room for her, but had quickly realized that neither he nor his Chinese cook really knew much about what a little girl would like. Earlier he'd told Joe to take the child to town at some point to buy her a wardrobe of new clothes and some toys to play with. With the help of the lady who ran the dress shop,he had already picked out one dress. He'd left it in Elizabeth's room for her to wear the next day. From what he remembered the Carnaby's didn't have much, and he knew his son would enjoy making the little girl happy.

Other than that, he'd been at a loss.

The Ponderosa had been without a woman's touch for so many years, he'd nearly forgotten what it was to have a female around for more than dinner. Casting his mind back, he'd sought memories of Marie and what she'd treasured. Flowers. Beautiful throws with lots of color. He'd come in from the range to find a parade of brightly colored fall leaves trailing down the center of the dining table and, for no reason other than that she thought their songs were lovely, the occasional canary winning through the house. In a moment of desperation he had gone to the closet in his room and fished out a small box that contained a few of his late wife's possessions. He was saving them for Joe to give to the woman he loved and finally married. Some were too fine and too mature for Elizabeth. There was a stunning necklace set with diamonds and a blue-green stone, along with several other elegant pieces of jewelry. The box contained as well as a number of elaborate jeweled hair combs. It took a moment, but he'd finally managed to find what he'd been looking for. A small box within the box. In it were a half-dozen hand-carved feathered birds. One felt, looking at them, that if he tossed them into the air, they would wing away with a song. Marie had bought them in San Francisco. He'd taken the birds to Elizabeth's room and positioned them on the windowsill.

He hoped she'd liked them.

When he came to the child's room, Ben put his hand to the knob and then stopped. Small, half-swallowed sobs came from inside. He hesitated, unsure of what to do, but then he thought of his own sons when they were small and it occurred to him that, in this circumstance, there was very little difference between boys and girls.

Elizabeth was, no doubt, missing her family.

Ben backed up and made a show of approaching the room, stomping his boots on the floor so she would be sure to hear him, and then called out as he knocked. "Elizabeth? May I come in? It's Ben."

He heard the familiar snuffling as she sucked in her tears and the sound of running and a small form striking the bed. How that brought back memories of his youngest who could never admit he had been standing by the window, looking out, watching and waiting for the return of someone he loved.

"Elizabeth?"

"Come in," a small voice answered.

The moonlight was streaming in the window. A small square of it fell on the bed, highlighting the little girl who lay there. Ben crossed over to her and asked with a smile, indicating the edge. "Mind if I sit down? These old bones need as much rest as they can get."

There was a smile, but it didn't touch her eyes. "Sure."

"You fell asleep downstairs," he said. "I'm sorry if you were frightened when you woke up."

"I ain't scared," she said, a little too quickly.

"Oh, I know you're not scared. It's just, well, sometimes when you wake up in a strange room and don't know how you got there, it can be a little puzzling."

Her eyes were wide. "It's an awful _big_ room."

He hadn't even thought of it. The room was about as big as her whole house.

"Yes, it is."

"And a _big_ bed..."

And she was very little.

"Well, you know," he said, scooting in a little bit, "it has to be big because there are so many people in it."

Her eyes went from side to side. Then to him. He had to hide a smile.

She obviously thought he was crazy.

"What people?"

He pursed his lips and raised a hand to his chin. "Actually, they're not exactly _people_."

Ben saw her eyes go to the coverlet, like she'd lift it and see if anyone was hiding there.

"Who are they then?"

It was something Marie used to say with Joe, a nightly prayer to help the sensitive, overly-imaginative boy go to sleep.

"Well, Uriel, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael for one," he said.

"You mean the archangels?" Her blue eyes went wider. "Who else?"

"Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John."

She thought a moment. "Those are Jesus' friends."

"Yes. And they're all here, watching over you because I asked them too."

"You did?" Elizabeth blinked.

"Yes. I asked, 'Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, bless the bed Elizabeth lies on. Four corners to her bed,

four angels 'round her head. One to watch and one to pray and two to keep her 'til the new day'." He smiled. "So you see, there's hardly room for you in that great big bed with all those people watching over you and keeping you safe."

"I guess so." The child thought a moment. "I sure wish I could see them though..."

"You can see me, right?" As she nodded, he went on. "How about I get a book from my room and come back here and read to you while they keep a watch over both of us?"

Again, a pause. Then, finally, a real smile. "I'd like that."

He rose. Tucking her under the covers, he asked, "How does Hans Christian Anderson sound?" It had been Marie's book. Her favorite story had been 'The Little Mermaid'. Joe had loved it too, that and 'The Little Tin Soldier', though he refused to admit it when he got older.

The little girl's eyes blinked with sleep as she nodded.

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Back in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

Ben went to the door and stepped into the hall and headed for his room. Halfway there he stopped. Hop Sing was just leaving Joe's room.

"Something wrong?" he asked, worried about Joe's injury.

"Number three son fine _now_."

The emphasis on 'now' brought his hackles up. "What was wrong earlier?"

"Nothing, Mistah Ben. Little Joe sleep now. Sleep _long_ time. No get up on foot."

They'd been fighting him. More than once Joe had tried to get out of bed.

"And how did you accomplish that?"

The Chinese man smiled. "Old Chinese secret."

Ben's eyebrows peaked. "And what's that?"

Hop Sing smiled.

"Tea and cookies with no sympathy."


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

It was early the next morning. The sun was up and smilin' on the world.

Little Joe Cartwright wasn't smilin'.

"Ah, Pa, come on!" Joe knew he was whining like a pup, but he couldn't help it. Pa was _treating_ him like a pup! "I don't need some old biddy – old lady to come out here. Hop Sing and I are – "

"Men."

His father's arms were locked tighter than the door on the bank vault in Placerville. One dark eyebrow arched toward his silver-white hair and the older man's lips were straight as a demarcation line. The signs were all there. He should've known better than to argue.

Actually, he did, but he couldn't help it. Every vision he'd had of a fine week without his pa and brothers, taking it easy and enjoying Elizabeth's company, was vanishing in the face of some old lady who thought she should mother Ben Cartwright's poor motherless child. Sure as shootin' the Widow Guthrie would move in and take over and spend her time makin' sure he was clean behind the ears and in bed by eight.

"Pa..."

"Joseph. While I am not entirely unsympathetic to your...pleas...I cannot leave that little girl alone in this house with you for a week. It simply _isn't_ something that can be done."

This time it was _his_ eyebrows that danced. His mouth fell open. He pointed at his chest and then up the stair to where Elizabeth was, and then looked back at his pa.

"She's a kid! What do you think I'm gonna do – kiss her?!"

His father gave him that look. The one that said, with _him_ , there was nothing entirely out of the realm of possibility. Pa held it for a moment and then he laughed. A second later his hand was on his shoulder.

"While I have the feeling, Joseph, that Elizabeth might not be adverse to you giving her a kiss," Pa said, trying, but failing to hide his amusement, "that's not what I'm concerned about."

"Well, then, for goodness sake, what _are_ you concerned about?"

"For one thing, who will give her a bath?"

Joe frowned. Was that a trick question? "What's wrong with Hop Sing? He gave us our baths when we were little."

His father sighed. It was like Pa was wondering if what he'd given life to was an idiot. "And you and Adam and Hoss are..." he said leadingly.

Joe puzzled it out. "Boys?"

"And Hop Sing is..."

It was getting trickier. "Chinese?"

Another sigh. _And_ a shake of the head. "And what else?"

He was gonna say 'short', but his pa had that look like, if he got it wrong, he'd get the switch.

"Joseph," his father said, exasperated. "He's a _man_. So are you. Hop Sing can, but probably shouldn't bathe a little girl of Elizabeth's age. _You_ certainly can't bathe her. We need a woman out here until Elizabeth's mother arrives."

A girl ofher _age?_

"What do you mean, Pa? I've helped take care of other little kids. How come _I_ can't do it now?"

His father stared at him. He took his arm and said, "Come over to the settee and sit down." As Joe limped over, he aimed for the table. " _On_ the settee," his father repeated.

"Yes, sir."

His father positioned himself on the settee as well and turned toward him. "Did you ask Elizabeth how old she is?"

Come to think of it, "No."

"She had a birthday just after we left their home. She's eleven."

Nah. _Couldn't_ be.

"Are you sure?"

His pa actually rolled his eyes this time. "No. Maybe she lied when I asked her."

"Sorry, Pa. She's just so dang little."

"Like you were?"

 _Thanks for not saying 'are'_ , Joe thought. "Yeah..."

"Depending on social status and region – and her parents' beliefs – that 'young lady' could be engaged in two years and married in four."

"Married?!"

"To you, Joseph, Elizabeth is a child, but she's a child on the edge of womanhood." He paused. "The feelings she has for you are very real."

"For _me_ , Pa?" he laughed. "We're just friends."

"Friends?" His pa rose. "I seem to remember a young lady telling me last year while you lay recovering in her parents' home, that you had promised you would wait for her and that the two of you would marry one day."

"Ah, Pa, you know how it is." Joe shrugged. "It was kind of cute, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings."

His father looked down at him. "Has it occurred to you that that is _precisely_ what you are going to have to do one of these days. Unless you intend to keep your promise to wait and make her your wife?"

Joe swallowed. He looked pained. "I guess I didn't think..."

"No, you didn't. Son," the hand came back, "you can't continue to plow through life making choices, taking action, and making _promises_ without considering the consequences. You may think Elizabeth's feelings for you are something that will fade – and they may – but to her, at this moment, they are very, _very_ real. She is in love with you."

Joe shook his head. "Pa, no. She loves me like I love her, as a friend."

"No, Joseph. She is a maturing woman and she is 'in love' with you. All it takes is one look to know it."

He thought hard a moment. "Then how come _I_ don't know it?"

"Because you're as thick-headed as you are ornery," a deep ironic voice quipped even as the front door closed.

Just what he needed.

Adam.

"How come you ain't on the range gettin' wrapped up in ropes and drug by a steer?" Joe snapped back even as Pa sighed deeply. He turned toward him. "Sorry, Pa, but Adam..."

"I am not sighing at your reaction to your brother's rather inflammatory comment." Joe smiled as that 'look' went to his older brother who stood, waiting by the door. Adam might be thirty, but Pa could still verbally smack his butt.

"What then?"

" 'Ain't?' ' _Drug_ '?" The older man pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, you're not too old to send back to school."

It seemed a change of subject was in order.

Rising carefully and watching his foot, Joe skirted the edge of the sofa and went over to Adam. His brother was dressed in a white shirt and black pants and was wearing his heavy golden-brown coat over them. His black hat was on his head and on it was a rim of white. Joe reached for it and playfully knocked some of the white stuff off.

"It's snow," he said as he watched it fall to the floor.

"Yes," Adam grumbled, "I know that."

"What've you got snow all over your hat for?"

Older brother did a remarkable imitation of their father rolling his eyes. "Because it's _snowing_. Hard."

"Snowing hard?" Pa came to join them. "It's only the last week in November."

"Apparently the weather isn't watching the calendar." Adam shook the rest of the snow off and placed his hat on the credenza. "It's not stopping, Pa. We're going to have to move up the schedule if we want to get those cattle to a safe pasture before the trails are too hard to pass."

"Where's Hoss?" Joe asked.

"Already at it." Adam frowned. "I came to get Pa and as many men as we can spare."

Pa hadn't been planning on going for a few days yet. Now it looked like he'd have to.

"I don't know." The older man was looking at him and shaking his head.

"We'll be fine, Pa," Joe assured him. "Elizabeth and Hop Sing and me. Soon as it stops, I promise I'll send one of the hands into town to get Mrs. Guthrie."

Adam started. "You've hired Widow Guthrie to come out while we're gone? Pa, is that wise?"

Joe shuddered. She _must_ be an old battle-ax.

Adam didn't scare easily.

His pa was still looking at him. "I trust Joseph's interactions with Mrs. Guthrie will be courteous and of a gentlemanly nature. Won't they, Joseph?"

"Yes, sir."

"She is in need of employment since the death of her husband, and is endeavoring to raise enough money to travel back east to rejoin her people," his father said. "Mrs. Guthrie has no children of her own, and so she was excited to think of spending a week or two with us and looking after Elizabeth."

Adam drew in a deep breath, raised an eyebrow, and did that funny little thing with his lips where they turned up on the ends like the grin on a fat old satisfied cat.

"You know best, Pa, but if you ask me – "

"I'm not."

Adam held his hands up in surrender.

Pa nodded. "Good. Now that my two sons have stopped debating every _single_ thing I say, I will go upstairs and finish packing my satchel. Adam, you go on to the bunkhouse and see who's there. Leave one or two men here to keep watch and send all the others on to help Hoss. I'll catch up with you after I make that run to the bank to deposit the payroll money." When Joe opened his mouth to protest that he and the ranch house didn't need any more baby-sitters, a single raised finger stopped him. "And you, young man, will remain in this house until that foot is mended. Your 'job' is to make our young guest's stay is the best she can have."

He grimaced. "Yes, sir." As his father headed for the stairs, Joe called after him softly, "Pa, is it okay if I take Elizabeth out in one of the sleighs? You know, she'd probably like to see the snow?"

"Just so you take Hop Sing with you." At his look, he added, "If I know that little girl, she's as headstrong as you are. All we need is for her or you, or _both_ of you to get _lost_ in the snow."

Adam hadn't left yet. He was pulling on his gloves. "Pa, you know Hop Sing doesn't have any sense of direction."

Joe gulped as their father looked right at him. "Well then, he and your brother will make a good combination.

"Sometimes Joseph doesn't have any sense at all."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Elizabeth Carnaby was staring out the window at the land surrounding Little Joe's house. It sure was pretty. There were tall Ponderosa pine trees standing guard around it, lookin' for all the world like an army of giants. She crooked her neck and looked up to see if their tops had fierce giant faces, and laughed when she saw that they did and that their long beards were made of snow.

It was _snowing!_

She loved snow. Her ma hated it, but her Pa said God made it for man. Snow was the only thing that slowed men down, he said, and made them take time to think. There wasn't much to do in the wintertime but think, Pa said, and listen to the silence. That one had been hard for her at first – how did a body 'listen' to something that didn't make a sound? Then one night when she was sitting on the porch on her Pa's lap, all wrapped in a warm blanket and his arms, she understood. Pa told her the snow had a voice, but it was made of color and light. You couldn't hear it. You could only see it, and even then, only if you looked.

It was so beautiful it made her cry.

Straightening up, Elizabeth turned back into the room the Cartwrights had given her and just stared at it. She'd paced it off and hadn't bumped into a wall 'til she got near twenty. Why, that was bigger than Ma's whole garden. Bigger, even, then their barn. If she'd been allowed to swear, she would have sworn it was even bigger than her whole house!

Pa'd let her swear one time. She'd hit her thumb with a hammer and it was hurting something awful and nothin', just _nothin',_ seemed to make it better. Pa scooped her up and took her to the pump to wash off the blood. He told her he was gonna have to 'sanitize' it with whiskey.

She didn't like the sound of that.

He admitted it was gonna hurt and asked her if she thought cussin' would help her to stand what he had to do. Now, she didn't rightly know since she'd never cussed before, but she was willing to try anything because she _remembered_ the last time she'd had something 'sanitized' and it had hurt _real_ bad! Pa told her to think of the worst thing she could think of and to shout it out as loud as she could when he poured the whiskey over her thumb.

" _Dad-blame it!"_ she cried, sucking in air. " _Dang!_ "

It was their secret. They never told Ma _or_ the preacher. Pa said you didn't need absolving for saying somethin' like that when there was a real true, sure-fire need.

Turning back to the window, Elizabeth went over to it and picked up one of the pretty little feathered birds and looked at it. She'd found them there when she woke up that morning. She didn't know who had left them. She hoped it was Joe. After finding them she'd gone to his room to see if he was there. When no one answered, she pushed the door open and went inside. Little Joe was laying there, sleepin', with one hand pressed against his face and the other gripping the blanket, with all those beautiful brown curls he had spilling over his forehead. The little girl sighed. He was prettier than all those little feathered birds put together. She'd been standing there, thinkin' about him, when she heard someone coming down the hall. Knowing she wasn't supposed to be there, she slipped under the bed and waited as the door opened and a man wearing black pants and shoes stepped inside. He stood just inside the door a minute, like he was checking on Little Joe, and then went back out.

A minute later she ran to her room.

Later on she got to thinking about it. Joe and his brothers and their Pa wore _boots._ She'd never seen any of them in shoes. That didn't mean they didn't _wear_ shoes, of course, but it made her wonder if maybe the Reverend Godfrey'd been the one looking in. He wore black pants and shoes. 'Course it made sense that the reverend would be checking on Joe. He'd probably been saying prayers for him.

That's what reverends did.

A knock on her door interrupted Elizabeth's thoughts. She turned back into the room and asked, "Who is it?"

"It's Joe, Bella. Are you dressed?"

She looked down at her new clothes. The dress was a deep teal green and made from a heavy fabric that was smooth to the touch. It felt just like Jack's bottom! There were layers and layers of white petticoats to go underneath it as well as pantalettes, and it had a little matching jacket with black soutache braid on the sleeves and front. There was a beautiful winter coat made of fur right beside it with a muff and hat.

She couldn't believe they were for her!

"Sure am, Little Joe," she said, twirling once as he opened the door.

"Mm-mm!" he exclaimed on seeing her. "My, oh, my, the belles of Virginia City are going to be jealous!"

She beamed. "You really think so?"

"I _know_ so." Little Joe came into the room. He was wearing a deep blue shirt and black pants today with a little black tie around his neck. Elizabeth's eyes went to his feet as he limped into the room.

Yep. Boots.

"I've come, milady, to escort you outside to yonder sleigh and chauffeur you about your kingdom," he grinned.

He was always being silly like that.

"Is your foot okay?"

He hobbled a bit as he moved to the window. "It's hurtin', but its nothing I can't stand. Pa said we could go if Hop Sing goes with us."

"Oh."

Little Joe turned to look at her. "Now, you ain't afraid of Hop Sing, are you?"

She didn't want to admit it, but, yes she was. About an hour after coming back to her room, she'd sneaked downstairs while she was still in her night dress to take a look around the house. She'd gotten to the great room when she heard somethin' her pa would have called 'caterwauling' coming out of the kitchen. Frightened, she'd run and hid behind Mister Ben's big blue chair even as Little Joe appeared limpin' on his bad foot and movin' fast.

A man carrying a knife was following him. He had tanned skin and black hair and his eyes were really small like slits.

Joe was saying 'Whoa, whoa, whoa! No!" while the man was shouting, 'You get out, Little Joe! You no come in kitchen, sneak food! You wait for breakfast like everyone else! You give Hop Sing sausage!"

"You come and get it!" Joe shouted back.

Then Hop Sing yelled somethin' in some kind of funny language and started chasing Joe around the table with the knife!

She'd been so scared she'd run right back up to her room, dived into her bed and pulled the coverlet over her head. When she woke up again, she thought maybe she'd dreamed it.

"Wait a minute," Joe said. "You weren't downstairs this morning, were you?"

Boy, he was smart.

"No."

Joe grinned. "Yes, you were. If I was you – and you and me are two peas in a pod – I would have been sneakin' around looking at everything when I thought no one could see."

"Well..." She turned her foot. "Maybe. Just a little."

Little Joe was grinning from ear to ear. "You saw Hop Sing chasing me with that knife."

Elizabeth scowled. "Maybe."

He thought a moment and then walked over to the door and opened it. "Hop Sing! Get up here!"

She paled as more of those funny words came up the staircase along with, "Little Joe no yell in house! Little Joe come down stairs talk to Hop Sing!"

"I got someone I want you to meet." He glanced at her. "Come on, Hop Sing. Just this once."

The funny words grew closer. A minute later the black-haired man with the tan skin appeared. He was scowling as he stepped into the room. One look at her turned it upside-down.

"Missy Elizabeth awake!"

"She sure is, Hop Sing." Joe's eyes were still on her. "Seems Bella here took a little walk this mornin'. She saw you chasing me with that butcher knife."

Hop Sing shook his head. "Little Joe bad boy. Steal sausages."

Her eyes were wide. "Were you really gonna stick him with that knife?"

Joe giggled. "I'm sure he was tempted."

The funny-looking man came into the room and walked right up to her. He was taller than her, but shorter than Little Joe. His black eyes fixed on her and he smiled. "Hop Sing no hurt Little Joe. Hop Sing love number three son. Love all Cartwrights."

Joe came over and put his arm around the funny man's shoulders. "Hop Sing's family, Bella. Pa hired him to cook for us about the time I was born. If there's anyone to blame for how ornery I am, it's him," he said, giving him a punch in the shoulder. "He practically raised me!"

She looked from the man to Little Joe. "Really?"

"Really." Joe released the other man. "He's Chinese. I bet you ain't never met anyone who's Chinese before."

"Little Joe not use 'ain't'," Hop Sing said softly. 'Ain't' not a word."

He grinned. "See what I mean? Bad as pa."

The Chinese man asked permission and then took her hands in his own. "Hop Sing sorry scare little girl. Make special breakfast for Missy Elizabeth." He glared at Joe. "Had sausage, but now have none. Hope Missy like bacon with eggs."

She looked from one to the other. "So you knew Little Joe when he was my age?"

"Hop Sing know Little Joe from when first born." He patted her hand. "Missy come with Hop Sing. Tell many stories while finish breakfast."

"Hey!" Joe said. "Now, don't you go tellin' any tales about me."

The Chinese man locked her arm over his and walked toward the door.

"Little Joe not worry. Hop Sing _ain't_."


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

"Sir."

"SIR."

"SHERIFF COFFEE!"

Roy Coffee's crisp blue eyes rolled up and over the top of the gold-rim glasses anchored on his nose. They'd been a gift from his late wife and he loved them like he loved her, but he'd be _danged_ if he didn't need a new pair! Adjusting the spectacles again – and with only a glance at the wanted poster with the tiny little writin' on it he was holdin' in his hand – Roy turned his attention to the fresh, young, and edgy deputy named Luke Warren he'd made official only three days before. Luke was standin' in front of his desk lookin' for all the world like he was bound to bust a gut.

"Somethin' I can do for you, Luke?"

"There's been a brawl at the saloon!" he declared, all excited like.

Roy's lips pursed. "Anyone dead?"

"No, sir."

"A Cartwright involved?" He'd heard about Little Joe's smashed foot, but that didn't mean anythin'. It would take a mountain fallin' on that boy to keep him down.

Clearly perplexed as to what was goin' on, the sandy-haired young man – who was from out of the area – said, "I'm afraid I don't know the Cartwrights, sir."

Roy put the poster down on the desk top. "Well, that'll be rectified soon enough," he sighed. "There's four of 'em. Come to town at least once a week."

"Are they trouble, sir?"

He held in his snort. 'Trouble?'

Dang right!

"Ben Cartwright, he's about the straightest man you'll ever meet, Luke," he said as he headed for the coffee pot with its day old coffee. "Honest as the day is long. A man of strong moral character. He don't stand for anythin' that ain't fair. Got him a mite of a temper." He shook his head as he poured. "Get's him in a pickle all the time."

"You said there were _four?"_

"Patience, boy," the older man said as he took a sip and winced as the thick cold liquid slipped down his throat. "You gotta learn patience if you're gonna make a good lawman."

"Yes, sir."

He winced again. 'Sir'. Eyeing Luke as he took another sip, he wondered if the boy'd lied about his age. He'd said he was twenty-one when he signed up.

Looked more like twelve.

"Ben's got three sons," Roy said, heading back to the desk. "Adam's the oldest. That boy's got as sure a head on his shoulders as you're like to find. Straight up and straight shootin'. There's no nonsense with Adam." He sat down. "Trouble is, that boy's got principles so high he can't quite climb to the top of them and if he gets somethin' in his head, there's no movin' or changin' it." Roy smiled. "I've knocked heads with him and I can tell you, it's a toss-up at to whose is harder!"

Luke blanched.

Roy's grizzled brows leaped.

Was _he_ really that bad?

"And the second and third sons?"

Roy leaned back and smiled. "Ben's second son is called Hoss. His momma gave him another name, but Hoss just suits him fine. That boy's big as a grizzly and just about as determined."

"So _he's_ the troublemaker?"

The older man eyed the eager young one before him. _Jumps to conclusions_ , he noted. _Black and white with no gray areas in-between._

Second one, good. First one, bad.

He'd have to hammer that out of him.

"No. Hoss ain't no troublemaker, and you can thank the good Lord for balancin' out that giant frame of his with the biggest heart in the territory for that!" Roy put his cup down. "The only trouble with Hoss is he's got a fierce love that sometimes makes him lose his head."

"A woman, then."

Roy scowled. "Boy, you a fortune teller?"

Luke shook his head.

"Then stop tryin' to read my mind!"

His new deputy blanched, which wasn't a good thing. Bein' one of those pale-skinned, freckled-faced, red-headed types, he was afraid Luke would just plain up and faint the next time 'round.

"Sorry, sir."

Roy slapped his hand on the desk. "And stop callin' me, 'sir'! _Dag-nabit!_ You and me is partners now. Just call me plain old 'Roy'."

"Yes, sir...er...Roy... Sir..."

Well, at least the boy's mama had raised him up right.

"If it's not a woman, may I ask what this 'fierce love' of Hoss Cartwright's is?"

Roy's eyes strayed to the street outside his window, thinking of all the times he'd heard footsteps on his porch and the door had opened and whoever had stepped in had had two words on their lips...

"Little Joe," he breathed.

Luke's brows peaked toward that tousle of reddish hair that flopped on his forehead like a pony's tail swatting flies.

" _Little_ Joe?"

"Littlest Cartwright. Boy's barely a hair under eighteen and he's got a nose for trouble." Roy glanced at the wanted poster again and moved it with his finger. There were times when he thought he might _just_ end up seein' Little Joe's name printed on one of them. "Only time I've had to come down hard on Hoss has been when he was protectin' his little brother."

Luke 's voice was hesitant. "So this time – with Little Joe – you mean he really _is_ trouble?"

Roy sighed. What _did_ he mean with Little Joe? The boy wasn't exactly 'trouble', not as a lawman used the word, but Joe sure as Hell found himself swimmin' in it more often than not.

"The boy's got a hot temper and goes off half-cocked more than half of the time," Roy admitted with a shake of his head. "He's had to learn to hold his own with those two big brothers of his and, I can tell you, boy, he's learned! Joe's not a big feller – _Hell_ , he's practically half the size of Hoss – but he's a scrapper. Most the fights I end up breakin' up at the saloon, he's come out on top!"

Luke hesitated. "You sound like you almost...approve."

He had to admit it. Little Joe Cartwright held a special place in his heart. He'd never had no children of his own but, if he had, he wouldn't have placed an order with the good Lord for one as contrary ornery as Joe. Still, that boy had a way of workin' himself into your heart.

"Joe's not a bad kid," the older man said. "He's just young and God didn't give him the sense to know when he's wrong." Roy paused. "I guess, if you think about it, when I described his pa, I was describing Little Joe. The boy's got a high sense of honor. He don't like injustice, and he don't back down." Roy chuckled. "Which sits him square in the lap of trouble with a capital 'T' just about every time he opens his mouth."

Luke was shaking his head. "This sounds like an...interesting town."

Luke had come from Placerville with his young wife about a month back, taking over the old Smith place on the west side. They had twin boys and seemed to be right nice folks. With his other deputy away, he'd needed an extra hand. The boy's pa was a lawman back East and so he'd thought he'd give him a try.

Snot-nosed or not.

Roy picked up the wanted poster and rose from his chair and went around the desk and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You got to be home any special time today, Luke?" he asked.

His sandy head shook. "Amy's ma is staying over for a few days, helping with the twins."

"Well, it just so happens I'm about to ride out to the Ponderosa – that's where all them Cartwrights live. Why don't you come along? I'll introduce you to Ben and the boys."

"I'd like that, sir...Roy. But what about the fight at the saloon?"

That's right. He'd been so busy talkin' about the Cartwrights he'd dang near forgot that Luke had come in talkin' about a buster at it.

"You said no one was dead?"

"One man was beat up bad. Another had a bottle broken over his head before he was thrown through the window and shattered the glass. There's a saloon girl yelling about being mistreated, and the saloon keeper's insisting we arrest the man who started it and see that someone covers the damages."

Roy nodded thoughtfully.

"Business as usual," he said with a smile. "Now, let's go see those Cartwrights."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The door to the Ponderosa swung in admitting three snow-covered figures. Two were laughing and the third was emitting a long line of unintelligible Mandarin Chinese. It was followed by a string of sharp words in English.

"Little Joe, Missy Elizabeth, bad, bad, _bad!_ Go to fire, get warm! Hop Sing get dry clothes! Hop Sing fix hot tea to warm up! Hop Sing heat water for baths!" The Chinese man stopped, fists on hips, to glare at them. "You die of cold, _you_ tell Mistah Ben, not Hop Sing's fault!"

The snow in Joe's hair was already melting. Water dripped from the brown ringlets on his forehead into his eyes. He was wiggling his way out of his wet wool coat and stopped with one arm still in it.

Snorting, he asked, "Ain't that gonna be kind of hard, Hop Sing, if I'm dead?"

He heard Elizabeth giggle as their cook let go more Chinese words and then shouted in English, "Father find Little Joe buried, maybe he be happy! No more trouble around here with only number one and two sons!"

"Nah," Joe laughed as the coat fell to the floor, leaving its own puddle. "Pa'd get old and fat fast with only that granite-head and big lovable Hoss around. All he'd do is sit and sip brandy and read books."

"Father work hard. Deserve sit down and sip!" Hop Sing pointed to the floor. "Little Joe pick up coat. Not born in barn!"

Joe couldn't help but laugh when he heard one of his pa's favorite expressions coming out of the Chinese man's mouth. He saluted.

"Yes, sir!" he said as he picked his coat up and hung it on the hook.

Hop Sing did a really mean impersonation of his pa's glare too. He threw his hands in the air as he passed. Muttering more words under his breath, the Chinese man disappeared into the kitchen.

"He's funny," Elizabeth said.

Joe laughed. "Don't you let Hop Sing hear you say that. He means every word."

She had shinnied out of her wet coat too. Looking at her now, Joe felt a twinge of guilt. Elizabeth's golden ringlets were dripping wet as was her dress – and she was shivering.

"Here," he said gently, "let me help you out of your dress."

"You gonna be my 'ma'?" she smiled. "Like Hop Sing's yours?"

He'd told her about that. Probably a mistake.

"I ain't your, Ma, I'm..." Joe's voice trailed off. What _was_ he exactly? Elizabeth liked to call him 'little brother', but he wasn't really that. They were friends but, well, it seemed like somehow they were _more._ As he sat down on the hearth and began to undo the buttons on the back of her dress, he realized his pa had known what he was talking about. Elizabeth was a child, but a child on the way to womanhood. He laughed quietly as he let go and watched her work her way out of the wet garment. It was funny, him _feeling_ funny.

He certainly had enough experience with women.

Elizabeth turned to look at him. Joe shook his head. She sure was one of the _prettiest_ he'd even seen.

Joe reached out to touch her underpinnings. They were wet too.

"I guess we got a little carried away with that snowball fight," he said with a wince.

"Oh, but it was fun! I don't care that I'm wet," she protested.

"You wait here," Joe said. "I'll be back in a minute."

Bounding up the stairs, he went to his room and pulled the banyan that he'd never worn out of the bureau. Adam had given it to him for his last birthday. Somehow the idea of slipping into a heavy satin robe and sitting around reading books suited Adam, but it didn't suit _him._ With the garment in hand, he took the steps two at a time until he reached the bottom. Returning to Elizabeth, he held the banyan out so it screened her small form.

"You go ahead and take off those wet under things where I can't see and then we'll wrap this robe around you, all right?" he asked.

"Okay..." she said, a little hesitation in her voice. "How come?"

"'How come', what?"

"How come you can't watch? Pa don't hide when I get dressed."

"Well, that's 'cause he's your Pa. And I ain't hidin'. I just ain't watchin'."

"Why not?"

Did he irritate his brothers when he asked this many questions?

"'Cause I'm a boy and you're a girl."

"Pa's a boy," she said as the first of the garments hit the floor.

"I know he's a boy, but he's your _Pa_..."

She gave him that look over her shoulder – the one he remembered giving his older brothers. It was a mixture of childish arrogance, annoyance, and just plain cussedness.

The blonde ringlets bobbed.

"Duh."

Another wet garment fell to the floor just like the snow had fallen off that tree branch his last carefully-aimed snowball had hit by mistake. Hop Sing, who was waiting in the carriage, had chosen just the moment he threw it to let off a mighty sneeze. It was accompanied by a long string of words that in no uncertain terms told him it was high-time they headed home. The sneeze made him start, and starting made him come down on his bad foot, which threw off his aim. The snowball flew. The branch shuddered and then shook as he dove for Elizabeth, and then dumped a wagonload of snow right on top of both of them.

Truth to tell, he hadn't had such a hooting good time since the _last_ time he'd gotten into a fight at the saloon!

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at him again. "I'm done."

Joe nodded and then wrapped the heavy garment around her small frame. It was a good thing he wasn't a big man. He had to wrap it almost twice as it was before tying it. Suddenly, the image of Elizabeth wrapped in one of Hoss' gigantic robes came to him and he started giggling.

He'd of never found her again!

The little girl was watching him. "You _sure_ like to laugh, don't you, little brother?"

"Best medicine there is, big sister," he said, wiping away a tear. "And I should know!"

"Little Joe go crazy crazy?" Hop Sing asked in a slightly quieter tone as he entered the great room bearing a tray with two steaming mugs and a small plate of sandwiches. "Hop Sing hear boy laugh like hyena."

Joe was still wiping tears. "I was thinkin' about Elizabeth wrapped in one of Hoss' robes," he snorted.

The Chinese man smiled. Then he frowned. "Missy Elizabeth dry. Why Mistah Joe still wet?"

Joe looked down. The puddle under him was bigger than the one that had been under his coat. He'd forgotten he hadn't changed yet.

"Hop Sing watch little missy. You go upstairs and – "

He was cut off by a knock on the door.

Joe lifted Elizabeth up and placed her in his pa's chair and scooted it closer to the fire. He kissed the top of her head and said, "You get some of that tea in you. I'm gonna see who's at the door."

As she nodded, he limped across the room, trailing water on his pa's wood floor and thinking of the scolding he was gonna get if the water left marks. When he opened the door, wind and snow blew in, followed closely by Roy Coffee and another man he didn't know. The stranger was wearing a badge, so he assumed he must be a new deputy. Looking at their feet, he saw a pile of snow.

At least now he didn't need to worry about the water trailing off of _him_.

"Hey, Roy," he grinned. "What brings you to the Ponderosa tonight? It ain't too nice out there."

Roy shook snow off his hat and then blew it from his grizzled mustache. "You been swimmin' in this cold, Little Joe?"

He glanced at Elizabeth. Hop Sing was drying her hair with a thick towel.

"Snowball fight. The snow won."

As the older man snorted Joe glanced at the younger one with him. What he saw made his eyebrows rise. It appeared the man disapproved of him and they hadn't even been introduced!

Roy saw him looking. "This here's Luke Warren. Luke and his family's just arrived from Placerville. His pa's been sheriff there."

Joe held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Luke."

Luke eyed him a moment longer and then took it. "Little Joe."

His eyes went to Roy, who was smiling a little too much. "Just Joe, if you don't mind."

The sandy-haired man nodded.

"So, you didn't answer my question," Joe said, turning back to Roy. "What brings you to the Ponderosa?"

"Foolishment!" Hop Sing declared as he moved past, wagging a finger at them before heading to the kitchen. "Many wet men! Many puddles on Mistah Ben's floor! Hop Sing go get _many_ rags!"

Luke looked at bit bamboozled by the whole thing.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Luke," Roy said in a soft aside. "It's Hop Sing really runs the Ponderosa." Then the lawman reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out the folded piece of paper. As he opened it, the older man asked, "Your Pa home, son?"

Joe shook his head.

"Adam?" At another shake, Roy asked hopefully, "Hoss?"

"Nope. Just Hop Sing and me – and Elizabeth. There was a preacher here earlier – the one who got off the stage with Bella – but he left this morning before the worst of the snow hit. As to Pa and Adam, they went to help Hoss. They'll be on the range for a week or so movin' the cattle north before the snow gets too deep. Nearly all the hands went with them."

The lawman's frown deepened.

Joe bristled. "Hey! I can take care of everyone here – "

"Now don't you go firin' up that temper of yours," Roy cautioned. "You'll be provin' everythin' my new deputy here's heard about you, and Luke ain't been in town _all_ that long!" The older man offered the paper to him. As he took it, Joe realized it was a wanted poster. "It's just that this here feller is one _mean_ son-of-a-gun and I ain't exactly sure I feel safe with only you and Hop Sing and the girl here."

Joe looked at the poster. 'Mean son-of-a-gun' about said it all. The man staring out at him from the printed page wasn't the type he would have wanted to come upon unawares in an alley, that's for sure. The outlaw had bushy black hair. A solid fringe of it ran across his forehead like an upside-down cresting wave. He had narrowed slits for eyes and a straight-line mouth that looked like it had never known laughter. Worry or hate or maybe both had plowed deep lines around his lips and dug even deeper furrows between his thick dark brows. Beneath the artist's drawing there was a long list of crimes, chief among them robbery and murder.

 _Several_ murders.

"Fleet Rowse?" he asked. "Sounds like a mean cuss. Should I have heard of him?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Roy replied as he took the poster back, folded it, and returned it to his pocket. "Worked for your Pa years ago when you were just a little tyke. 'Fore your ma died."

So, at least twelve years before.

"You're worried he'll head here? Why?"

The older man shook his head. "Well now, if I was a man who made a livin' by takin' what other's hard work has earned, and I'd seen the Ponderosa once upon a time and knew what your Pa kept in that there locked safe, I'd be doin' me a good bit of thinkin' about whether or not I could get that there money for myself. Rowse'll know this time of year you got payroll there waitin' on the men to return from the drive."

It was nearly empty now, but he didn't bother to tell Roy that. Pa had been afraid to leave thousands of dollars in it with Elizabeth at that house for just such a reason.

"Yeah," Joe agreed, "but Rowse'll also know we keep that money safe. Pa left hands to keep watch. They're riding about a mile out from the house."

"True. True." Roy pulled at his whiskers. "But Fleet's gonna know your routine. Goes on right like clockwork year after year." He grinned. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it. You know what I mean?"

Joe glanced at Hop Sing as the Chinese man reentered the room, dry rags in hand. "Look, Roy, I appreciate your concern – and the warning – but we'll be just fine. Won't we Hop Sing?"

He was shooing Roy and Luke back toward the door. "Men go away! We fine here! Take wet boots outside!"

The lawman continued to frown. "You got all the doors and windows locked, Little Joe?"

He laughed. "Heck no! I threw them all open to let in the cold and the snow." Sobering, Joe admitted, "They're all locked, Roy. Like I said, I appreciate your concern and you riding out here to tell us about Rowse, but, really, we'll be okay."

As Roy glanced warily at Hop Sing, who was getting ready to move from mopping the floor to his boots, the older man added softly, "I'm accountable to your Pa, you know that, son, you being under eighteen and all."

"Hop Sing _not_ under eighteen. Hop Sing old man! You go!" their cook said as he rose to his feet. "Hop Sing keep Little Joe and Missy safe! Little Joe smart. Missy smarter. Hop Sing _smartest_ of all!"

Joe's eyes twinkled. "There you go, Roy. You heard it from the emperor's mouth."

The Chinese man's eyes flicked to him. An affectionate smile lit them even if the emotion didn't reach Hop Sing's turned-down lips.

The lawman threw his hands in the air. "You see what I told you, Luke," he said to the younger man who had remained by the door, watching the scene unfold with disbelieving eyes. "Ain't _no one_ like the Cartwrights!" Roy straightened his hat and brought the bill down over his eyes. As he turned away, he said, "Let's get goin', boy. It's a long ride back into town through blowin' snow."

Joe glanced at Elizabeth. She was sitting by the fire with her bare toes pointed at the flames, warming herself. He felt just a twinge of fear for her. Not for himself, mind you, but her.

"You think maybe you should just stay the night, Roy? It's gettin' late and the snow's flying."

The lawman shook his head. "Thanks for the invite, but I got me a warm office back in Virginia City and a mountain of paperwork bigger than any snow drift to go through." Roy glanced at his companion who had his hand on the latch. "'Sides, Luke here's a new pa and I'm sure he wants to get home to that pretty little wife of his and those twins."

Joe followed them as Luke opened the door and the two lawmen stepped out. The wind was howling like a hungry wolf and the snow was steady. There were several inches on the ground. He knew from experience, though, that those inches could soon be one or two _feet_ in the higher elevations.

A sudden concern for his pa and brothers hit him. They were out in this while he was here, at the ranch house, safe and warm. Glancing up, he tried to judge the sky. From the looks of it, it would be at least a couple of hours before the storm moved on. And only Heaven knew if there was another one behind it.

Joe nodded absentmindedly. "Sounds good. You take care on the road, Roy, you hear?"

Luke nodded and Roy waved as the two men mounted their horses, turned the animal's noses toward town, and began to move. Joe watched until they disappeared around the barn, becoming one with the white night. Then he turned, intending to go into the house. At that moment, however, he heard another sound.

A woman singing.

Turning back, Joe squinted into the blowing snow, looking for the source. It wasn't two minutes later that a snow-covered rig, driven by a single woman, came in from the opposite side of the barn. The rig crossed the yard and stopped in front of the house.

The woman in the carriage was all bundled up. She had a winter hat on and a scarf wound around her throat. Between them they concealed just about everything but her eyes.

"Is this the Ponderosa?" she asked in a muffled voice.

Joe limped toward her. "It sure is, Ma'am. I'm Joe Cartwright. Can I help you?"

Her small form seemed to crumple. "Oh, thank God! I thought I would never make it! I must have driven right past the house the first time!"

"You could've chosen a better night to visit," he laughed. A second later he offered his hand. "What brings you out here?"

The woman took his hand and let him help her out of the buggy. "I'm Mrs. Guthrie," she said, somewhat breathless. "Here to help with the little girl."

That explained it. Her being a widow and all. He'd wondered why she had come out alone.

"Pa said you were coming. Sorry I wasn't here to help you. You're early."

"I thought, with the storm..."

Joe reached into the carriage and drew out a large carpet bag. "This all there is?" he asked, looking in the buggy's back seat.

"That's it. I don't need much. Mister Cartwright said it would only be for a week or so. Maybe two at most."

He nodded. "Until Monday. Pa and my brothers are due back then."

Joe linked his arm with hers and slowly led the way, making certain she didn't trip on something hidden beneath the snow. When they opened the door, wind and more snow blew in with them.

He could hear Hop Sing sigh clear across the room.

Elizabeth, who was still by the fire, turned to look at them. Then she rose and crossed the room, dragging the ends of his banyan on the floor behind her.

"Who's this?" she asked.

Joe turned toward her. His look was apologetic. Here they went, with Pa's old battle-axe there to watch over them like they were two snot-nosed kids. As the woman behind him divested herself of all of her winter gear, he said, "This is Mrs. Guthrie, Bella. The woman Pa – "

Elizabeth looked stunned.

Puzzled, Joe turned toward Mrs. Guthrie.

' _Stunned_ ' was the right word!

Standing before him was a beautiful woman – maybe thirty years old – with a head of wavy chestnut hair, green eyes, a peach-perfect complexion, and a wide, generous mouth. The cold had given her cheeks a crisp apple red bloom.

Joe swallowed and his eyebrows popped toward the curly fringe of hair on his forehead. "I...didn't get your first name."

She laughed. "I didn't give it. Aurora."

 _Aurora._

He was in love.


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

"It's colder than a hussy's heart out here!" the tall thin man in the parson's suit commented as he held his hands over the small fire his companion had kindled only a few moments before. It had been built partially in the ground to mask its existence. They hadn't dared light it until the Sheriff and his deputy passed by on their way back to Virginia City.

Atticus Godfrey shivered as the fat man in the seal skin coat turned and looked at him. His heavily jowled and scowling face was masked by shadows. As he struck a match and lighted the cheroot hanging out of his mouth, his exposed skin flared red as a ghoul's.

"You have personal experience, preacher?" his companion scoffed. "No, wait, of course you do, since your late parishioners called you a 'son of Satan'."

Atticus shrugged. "They should know. They made me what I am."

The other man snorted.

Noyes Runyon, the overweight stuffy businessman who had gotten off the Virginia City stage in front of him, and stayed in the town while he went to the Ponderosa and made preparations, pulled his coat collar up around his fleshy face and shivered. "When do you expect Rowse?"

The tall thin man sighed. "When he gets here. You know Fleet. He lives on Paiute time."

"What about that attractive sister of his?" Noyes leered. "Is she part Paiute?"

"No, but neither is Fleet. He just lived with them. The Paiutes took him when he was around four and he was returned to the Rowse's when he was eleven or twelve." Atticus sighed. "Try as I might, I can't seem to exorcise the savage demons in him."

"That's kind of hard to do, _reverend_ , with those demons of your own set so squarely on your shoulders." Noyes chaffed his hands together and crossed to the fire Atticus had kindled earlier. "I heard that brother of yours evicted you and that's what brought you out west."

Atticus moved to the fire and stretched out his hands. "My brother and I have never seen eye to eye. Leander always failed to see an opportunity when one was presented to him."

"Like his friendship with Ben Cartwright."

The preacher nodded. "The possibilities were endless." A slow sly smile crept across his face and lit his pale eyes. " _Are_ endless."

"So there's no one home but the boy and that girl who came to visit. Oh, and the Chink."

"And Aurora," a low, gruff voice added.

Both men turned. Atticus spoke first. "Fleet."

A man swaddled in a well-worn black woolen coat with a homespun scarf tied around his black hat and chin to hold them on, moved into the ring of firelight. He nodded at the preacher just as Noyes said, "It's about time you showed up, Rowse."

Fleet Rowse didn't blink. "You thinkin' of going somewhere?" the third member of their gang asked.

"Now, Fleet, don't fly off the handle," Atticus cautioned. "Noyes and I were just wondering what was keeping you."

The man in the scarf and hat stepped close to the fire. Its light reflected in his eyes lending them a demon gleam. "I had to check on my sister," he sneered. "Gonna pay her a visit in a while."

Sometimes it was hard to imagine that Rowse _had_ siblings. Evil as he was, it seemed he'd been spawned rather than born. His time among the Indians had taught him a great deal – none of it good.

"I'm sure she'll be looking forward to that," Noyes grunted.

Quicker than greased lightning, Rowse had the fat man by the throat.

And held a knife to it.

"Temper, temper," the businessman rasped, seemingly unfazed. "Where would you be without _me?_ Preacher there can't do much to provide supplies, horses, _or_ weapons for your scheme." Noye's piggy eyes narrowed. "Remember, its _me_ you have to thank _for_ that knife you are holding to my throat."

Rowse glared. He snorted. And then he laughed, long and loud.

Dropping the knife, but still holding onto the other man's collar, he said, "You show no fear."

Noyes Runyon met Fleet Rowse's stare head on. "I'll show it when _you_ show me something I need to be afraid of."

The two men stood there, facing each other like mountain lions disputing territory, and then Rowse released the other man.

"It's time I go," he said.

"We're still aiming for tomorrow morning, early, then?" Atticus inquired. "There's no telling when the older Cartwrights may return. It will be easier with just the boy and the Chinaman there."

Fleet shrugged. "What _I_ intend to do, will be done tonight. If all goes well, I'll bring the money with me and meet you behind the Cartwright's barn. There'll be no need for you two to even enter the house."

"Nothing ever goes that easy," Noyes scoffed. "There's always a price to be paid."

The man who had joined them shifted the scarf that covered his face so the cruel line of his mouth showed.

"Yes. And the Cartwrights are the ones who will pay it."

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Elizabeth leaned forward on her elbows and rested her chin in her hands so she could stare at Little Joe who was sitting across the table from her, leaning on _his_ elbows and staring at the pretty lady who had come in out of the snow. Hop Sing winked at her as he picked up her empty soup bowl and bent low to whisper in her ear.

"What you think of Mrs. Aurora?"

The little girl frowned. She wasn't really sure just _what_ she thought of Mrs. Guthrie. She was all right, she supposed. Nothin' was really _wrong_ with her. Still, from the minute the red-headed lady had walked in the door, it seemed like something _had_ gone wrong with little brother. Elizabeth's frown turned into a scowl. It was like that time Pa stumbled and hit his head on a rock. It had been kind of funny at first – Pa walkin' sideways and runnin' into things and not makin' a lot of sense – but it had been scary too.

"Don't know," she whispered back. "Do you like her?"

"Mrs. Aurora _vely_ nice lady. She take good care of you," Hop Sing answered with a nod.

Elizabeth had to admit the redhead _was_ nice. In fact Mrs. Aurora, as Hop Sing called her, had gone out of her way to _be_ nice. After depositing her things upstairs, the pretty lady had come down to the great room. Taking her in hand, she'd pulled her over to the hearth area where she'd asked her about her family – about Ma and Pa and Jack and when they would be coming to the Ponderosa – about whether she missed them or not, about what she could do for her during her stay...

She glanced at Little Joe again. He was sitting with his fork halfway to his lips now, still staring. Elizabeth blew out a breath. It was _little brother_ that was the problem. He looked like Jack that time they'd gone into town and her baby brother had pressed his nose up against the general store window where they had all the candy. Only Little Joe wasn't drooling.

Elizabeth looked again.

Well, not _much..._

The redhead put her napkin down and started to stand up. Little Joe shot out of his chair fast as a jack rabbit and caught the back of hers before she could.

"Here, let me help you, Mrs. Guthrie," he said as he pulled the chair out.

Mrs. Aurora smiled as she stood. "Thank you, Joseph."

Little brother blushed right up to his ears. "Just Joe, Ma'am," he said

"Just 'Aurora', then," she answered with a sweet smile.

Elizabeth looked from the one to the other.

Yuck.

The little girl looked up at Hop Sing, who was removing another dish. "Somethin's wrong with Little Joe," she said, her voice hushed. "I think he's sick."

"Number three son fine," the Chinese man said with a grin.

She frowned at him and then looked at Little Joe again. They'd had a dog looked like that once.

Pa'd shot it.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Hop Sing sure. Not know why, but Mistah Ben's youngest son like older ladies. Maybe because he lose mother so young." The cook shook his head as he gathered an armload of dirty dishes. "Pretty ladies trouble with capital T for number three son!"

Little Joe had followed Mrs. Guthrie to the bottom of the stairs like a cat trackin' cream, and now he was standin' beside her, starin' again. There'd been a time – she'd been awful young, but she remembered it – when a pretty redheaded lady had come to work for them. It was just after Ma had Jack and she was laid up for a while. That lady's name had been Rebecca and she was younger than Ma. Becky, as they called her, was right pretty. She had big blue eyes and golden hair that reached all the way down her back. At first she worked in the kitchen and hung out the wash and did all the things Ma couldn't do. Funny thing was, when Pa would come in she'd go outside, and then go inside if he went back out.

Elizabeth's blonde brows met in the middle. Come to think of it, Becky had looked kind of like Little Joe did now whenever Pa showed up.

After about a week Becky started acting different. Whenever Ma fell asleep, she'd take cold drinks and sandwiches out to Pa where he was workin' in the barn. Before she did, Becky would brush her hair and pinch her cheeks. Sometimes she'd even put on fresh clothes.

One day when they were sittin', peelin' potatoes, she'd asked her ma about it. Ma got a funny look on her face and said Becky was a nice lady and she'd been a big help and there was nothing to worry about.

The next day Becky was gone.

"There's no force more powerful than a determined woman," her mother said as they watched the young woman walk away.

Elizabeth looked at Little Joe. Missy Aurora had gone up to bed and he was standin' by the fire now, starin' into it and stirrin' the ashes with a poker lookin' sad. As her blue eyes shifted back to the stairs, a resolute look settled on her young face.

Or a determined _girl._

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Aurora Guthrie was almost settled in. She'd been tired and Joseph had said he would see Elizabeth to bed tonight. It felt like shirking her duty, but she'd agreed as the ride through the snow had been a bit – well – harrowing.

The room the Cartwrights prepared for her was absolute luxury, and their fine ranch house a palace compared to the modest home she had shared with her late husband, Matthew. Humble and small, their frame house had been located on the north end of Virginia City. They'd married late – Matt had been near thirty and she, a girl 'past her prime', at twenty-four. Their life together lasted six years and, though no children had come as a result of it, they'd been happy.

Until Matt contracted measles. Of all the things she'd thought could bring a strong, healthy man down, that was not one of them. Matt had never had the disease as a child. When the infection took hold, his temperature spiked. Nothing would bring it down. At first he was so silent and sick. Then, the raving began.

In the end Doc Martin said Matthew had simply burnt out.

The lovely redhead steadied herself with a hand against the bureau that butted up against the armoire. Matt's death had left her with little, and most of that was heavily mortgaged. In the end she'd decided to sell all they had. She moved in with a lovely widow by the name of Marjorie Minton and took a job at the local dress shop. Still, she found herself haunted by the shadows of the past every time she walked down Virginia City's central street or went to a restaurant for supper, or attended church. In the end she decided she needed something different.

Which was why she intended to go back east.

Aurora turned back into the room. Her lips curled into a smile at the thought of the family that occupied the house she was in. She'd seen the Cartwrights in town, of course, but the most she could have called them was acquaintances. Ben had come out to her place with a few other men to ask her if she needed help after her husband died, and had offered the services of his two oldest boys. Little Joe had been away at the time. She'd thanked him politely and accepted his offer. Hoss and Adam had come out the next day to help set a value on her stock and make suggestions as to who she could sell to who wouldn't mislead or cheat her. Hop Sing showed up shortly afterward with a wagonload of goods and food to tide her over during the winter that was shortly to come. And she was _sure_ Roy Coffee's frequent visits had come about as an agreement between him and the owner of the Ponderosa. Much as the sheriff denied it, he'd let it slip once that Ben Cartwright was concerned about her living on the edge of town all alone.

She'd never met Ben's youngest until tonight.

Aurora thought a moment more and then laughed out loud. The boy was practically half her age but it was easy to see that he was just as quickly smitten with a 'pretty face' as all the women in town said he was. Joseph Cartwright was a handsome young man, but that's what he was – _young_. Far too young for her.

Besides, there would never be anyone but Matt for her.

She hadn't failed to notice little Elizabeth Carnaby's expression either when young Joseph began to pay her so much attention. When she'd been about Elizabeth's age her father had brought home a business acquaintance. It had been before that...terrible day. At the time her young soul knew nothing of loss and grief and the terrible sense of fear that would soon be part and parcel of it. The man who came with her father was handsome like Joseph and, like Joseph, he had been very sweet to a little girl who was most obvious smitten with him. The next day he'd returned with a young woman on his arm and had introduced her to them as his fiancé.

Hell hath no fury like a little girl with a crush scorned.

Moving to the bedside table, Aurora opened her valise and drew out a hair brush. As she sat down with it, running it through her long tresses in preparation for braiding her hair, she considered how she could – _subtly_ – let Elizabeth know she had no romantic interest in young Joseph, while at the same time not hurting the young man's pride.

Aurora laughed again. She had to admit that a romantic triangle was the _last_ thing she had anticipated when she'd agreed to Ben Cartwright's proposal!

Laying the brush down, she gathered her thick hair in her hands. She had just begun to braid it when a sound in the room startled her. It was one of those sounds you can't easily place. A shuffle. Perhaps a sigh. Maybe the movement of cloth against skin.

It was one of those sounds that let you know you were _not_ alone.

Rising to her feet she headed for the door.

A gruff male voice stopped her.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man said.

Aurora froze.

"Now, turn around slowly and come over to the window."

There was _something_ about the voice. It had a familiar ring, though she couldn't place where she'd heard it. She was sure it wasn't any of Ben Cartwright's sons. Aurora drew in a sharp breath.

Maybe it was one of the ranch hands, come here to do her mischief.

Maybe it would be wise to shout right _now_ , before the man could lay a hand on her.

"Don't think about it," he said, as if reading her mind. "I have a gun."

The redhead kept looking as she walked, but she couldn't see anything. Whoever it was, was hidden by the shadows that masked the back corner of the room.

"What...what do you want?" she asked.

"I won't hurt you. I just want to talk."

Her jaw tight, she demanded, "About what?"

"How about old times?" whoever it was snorted.

Aurora's eyes narrowed. "Do I know you?"

This time he laughed. "You might say that."

She thought furiously, trying to place the voice. _Who_ could it be? Who would have known she was here? And how could they have found their way into the Cartwright household and then found her room and her in it?

Who?

Then, suddenly, she knew.

Aurora's fingers went to her throat as fear gripped her. No. It _couldn't_ be. She _had_ to be mistaken. He was in prison.

 _Had_ to be in prison.

As she watched the man shifted and left the shadows behind. Or rather, he brought them with him – the shadows of the life he had chosen, of the evil he had embraced; of the innocent souls he had sent too early to their graves.

"Cat got your tongue, Rory?" he asked.

No. Not a cat. _Fear._ Fear for herself and for the others in the Cartwright household, for little Elizabeth, for Hop Sing, and dear sweet Joseph.

Breathless, it was all she could do to utter her brother's name.

"Fleet..."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It seemed to Elizabeth that she'd spent an awful lot of time since coming to the Ponderosa with her chin anchored on her hands and her elbows on a table. She was doing it now in the great room. She and Little Joe had been playing checkers and he'd upped and fallen asleep on her. When he did, she went over to sit in front of the fire and wait for him to wake up. She'd decided to let him sleep for a couple of reasons. First off, she figured he was tired bein' old as he was. Second, he was dealin' with that crushed foot that was still painin' him.

Last of all, she just wanted to stare at him because...

Well, just _because._

From her position on the floor, leaning on the table in front of the hearth, she eyed him. Little brother was _awfu_ l handsome. She sure loved those dark brown curls that covered his head and spilled near over his eyes at times. His eyes were beautiful. They were big and green as Spring, and his eyelashes were longer than hers. Little Joe's skin was smooth as Jack's – she knew that 'cause she'd run her hand over his forehead when he'd been sick and they'd first met. He had pretty lips, though there was a tiny little scar beside them on the left-hand side that she wondered about. It was deep enough you coulda put your fingernail in it. Elizabeth scowled as she examined it. Whatever had happened, must have hurt him somethin' fierce. She had one not half that deep that'd been left when she whacked her thumb with Pa's hammer, and that was about the worst pain she'd even known.

Rising to her feet, the little girl moved closer. Carefully, she reached out and touched Joe's curly hair. Up close and in the firelight, little brother's hair looked like it had gold threads running through it. So did his eyebrows. They were just about as thick as wooly bears and kind of moved like them too, rolling toward the middle and scrunching up and down whenever he was puzzled or thought something was funny, or got real mad. Squinting, she considered Little Joe's nose. The first time she'd looked at it, she'd kind of laughed. It was just about the cutest nose she'd ever seen. It was little and turned up kind of funny at the end, just like the ones those pixies had on the Christmas postcard her Grandpa Carnaby had sent her when she was little. Elizabeth let out a deep, long sigh as she walked back to the fire.

She didn't think there could be a prettier man in the _whole_ wide world.

Little Joe's cute little nose twitched. His wooly brows worked up and down and then he blinked. Those green eyes looked at her all confused for a second and then he grinned just like Jack did when Ma caught him lickin' fingers covered with jam.

"I fell asleep, didn't I?" he asked.

She nodded. "I figured you needed it, you bein' old as you are. Ma always said old people sleep a lot."

His lips twitched, making the scar dance. "Oh, so you think I'm old?"

She shrugged. "Well, ain't you?"

Little brother moved in the big red chair. "I gotta admit I feel ancient right now," he laughed. Then as he shifted and moved his foot, he added, "Ow!"

"Your foot hurtin'?" she asked.

As he stood and put his weight on it, he admitted, "A little."

"It probably wouldn't hurt so much if you hadn't been followin' Mrs. Guthrie around like a puppy."

Little Joe frowned. "Huh?"

Elizabeth chewed the inside of her lip. She'd meant that to come out soundin' like Pa. Instead, she'd sounded like Ma in one of her _moods._

"Nothin'," she replied as she looked at her toes.

Joe hobbled over to where she was standing. "Elizabeth, look at me."

Nope. She wasn't going to. Instead, she started counting hearthstones.

Little Joe took a seat on the table beside her. He reached out and took hold of her hand with one of his. "Will you please look at me?" he pleaded.

Elizabeth hesitated.

She didn't want to 'cause then he'd see the tears.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe looked up at Elizabeth and swallowed hard. He was still shaking off sleep and his head was mud, but he was pretty sure this was that _moment_ Pa had talked about.

"Come on now," he said, keeping it light. "You're gonna make me stand up again and that hurts."

Elizabeth refused to look at him. Her jaw was clenched and one tear had escaped to trail down her cheek. "Didn't seem to hurt you none when you were standin' with _her_ ," she said,

Joe drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew now he'd made a _big_ mistake before when he told her that he'd wait for her to grow up and then marry her. At the time he hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings and, truth be told, he'd found her crush on him just about as cute as a bug in a rug. Looking at her now, he realized Elizabeth _wasn't_ a child. She was a girl on the cusp of bein' a woman like Pa had said, and try as he might to dismiss what she was feeling, her feelings for him were all _too_ real.

Thinking back Joe remembered the time, when he was ten, that he'd been sweet on the young school teacher who'd filled in for Miss Jones for a month. His brothers had laughed at him, but it hadn't stopped him taking her flowers and offering to stay after school to clean the boards or sweep the floor. When the month was up and she left without so much as a 'goodbye', he thought his world had ended. He'd been mad and sad at one and the same time, and had taken it out on everything from the corral fence to a china plate at the supper table that he'd slammed down so hard it broke in two. His pa'd tanned his backside for that and he'd decided to run away. 'Course he only made it to the stable where Adam found him sittin' in the back stall cryin' his eyes out. Joe smiled. Adam hadn't said anythin' about the plate or the school teacher. He'd just started talking about the time when he thought _he_ was in love with Inger, Pa's second wife. She'd been so kind to him and so sweet. He thought that meant she loved him just like she loved Pa. His older brother laughed when he told him he'd figured he'd marry her some day.

'There are all kinds of love, Little Joe,' Adam had explained. 'There's the love of a man for a woman, and its deep. But there are ties that are deeper still. The ties of family.'

Looking at Elizabeth now, he knew that was what he felt for her. Not love as a man feels for a woman, but the love he would have for a sister. It was as if there was a knotted cord that ran from his heart to hers. It wasn't one to be broken, like a lover's by the fickle winds of desire and self. It was a tie that erased all differences and left two people _one._

How could he make her understand?

Joe drew a breath and tried again. "Elizabeth, I – "

"Joseph?" a light voice called.

Both he and Elizabeth turned to look at the staircase. Aurora was descending it.

"It's time for Elizabeth to get to bed." Aurora smiled as she stepped onto the floor. "We ladies need our beauty sleep."

The little girl seemed to melt. "Little Joe, do I have to?"

It wasn't quite a whine, but it was close.

Joe hid his smile. "We fellers need our beauty sleep too, you know. I was gonna suggest we turn in too." He pursed his lips and frowned. "You want me to look even _older_ than I do now?"

Elizabeth looked at him like she thought that would be _mighty_ hard. "You're going to bed too?"

He nodded. "Sure am. If I don't pretty soon, Hop Sing will come out here and chase me upstairs with that kitchen knife."

The blonde girl looked from him to Aurora and back. "I guess its all right...if we _all_ go."

The redhead stretched out her hand. "Come on, then. We'll get you all washed up and tucked in safe in your bed."

As the little girl began to move, Joe turned his attention to the pretty woman on the stairs. There had been something about the way Aurora said that last part. Her voice kind of quivered. Now that he thought of it, she looked sort of drained. Pale, even. Joe shook his head and dismissed it a moment later. Aurora had ridden out through a storm. She was probably just tired.

"Will you come in and say good night, Little Joe?" Elizabeth asked as she took the redhead's hand.

"Give us about half an hour," Aurora said.

Joe nodded. "Will do. I've got a couple of chores to do before turning in. See you in a few."

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Two hours later the ranch house was quiet. True to his word Little Joe had finished his work and then headed back inside. He ran into Hop Sing in the kitchen when he went to get a cup of tea to warm himself before heading to bed. The man from China told him he had a little cleaning to do yet and then he would go to sleep as well. Joe stopped by Elizabeth's room as he'd promised to plant a goodnight kiss on her forehead, and then dropped into his own bed and fell asleep in minutes, worn out after a long day. Outside the perimeter of the Ben Cartwright's rustic but elegant home, several ranch hands keep silent vigil, patrolling the tall Ponderosa pines that surrounded it, watching for anything or anyone out of place; doing their best to keep the ones their boss held dear safe and sound.

Little did they know, they had already failed in their duty.

No punishment, of course, would await them when their failure was discovered. They weren't to blame, after all. How could the ranch hands possibly know that, before his departure, the right reverend Atticus Godfrey had unlocked one of the upstairs windows, providing access to a spirit darker than the night? How could they possibly know that the woman Ben Cartwright had trusted to care for little Elizabeth Carnaby and his son had a brother who was wanted by the law in both California and the Nevada territory, a brother she had not seen for five years – a brother who, without her knowledge, had recently escaped from the territorial prison and joined forces with two common thieves named Atticus Godfrey and Noyes Runyon who had been headed to Virginia City for the sole purpose of relieving the Cartwrights of a goodly portion of their money?

No, there was no way they could have known.

Unfortunately, all too soon, they and everyone else, would.


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

As the tall case clock in Ben Cartwright's house struck midnight, Fleet Rowse stepped out of his sister's room, drawing Rory after him. Gripping her arm just above the elbow, he forced her down the steps and toward the old man's office. Atticus had done his work well. Not only had the ex-reverend left the upstairs window open as ordered, providing him access, but he'd drawn up a map showing him the layout of the house and where the safe was. Atticus told him as well that the ranch hands were out on patrol and there would be no one home tonight but the cook, the little girl, and Cartwright's youngest son, who was barely more than a boy.

Oh, and of course, his beloved sister.

Moving quickly through the darkness, Fleet propelled Rory into the office and told her to stand by the desk as he knelt and checked the lock on the safe. Not surprisingly, it was a good one. It would take a while to crack the combination, but then again, he had all the time in the world. It was barely past midnight and no one should be up until four-thirty at the earliest, and even then that would be the cook. If the Chink discovered them, well, taking him out would be as simple as snapping his fingers. No, this was going to be an _easy_ one. Safe-cracking was his specialty. Well, Fleet thought, his lip lifting in a sneer. _One_ of his specialties.

He wielded a mean knife and was pretty good with a pistol too, as the dozen or so notches on Bessie's burled Maple handle attested.

"What are you waiting for?" Rory's whisper was furious. "Just take what you want and get out of here. Leave these people alone!"

Fleet looked up at her. Rory was just as pretty as he remembered and looked kind of like their ma when she was riled.

"Don't tell me you're sweet on that Cartwright kid." He'd seen him in town. Joseph Cartwright was a pretty boy. His sister's man had been another of them – pampered, privileged, and _soft._ "A year or two more and you could be his Ma."

Rory scowled at him. "There's a child in this house, Fleet! I don't want her to get hurt."

"Oh come on, sis," he said as he sent the dial whirling and listened to the clicks, "you know I don't hurt kids."

"I know nothing of the kind!" Her voice trembled. "As I know nothing _of_ you anymore, nor do I want to!"

He scowled as he tried again. It was a new kind of lock that had a different sound. "Is that any way to talk to your brother?"

"You stopped being my brother when you decided to return to the savages who took you. When you brought them to our home that day and they...did what they did." The redhead paused. "I _hate_ you!"

He frowned as the combination continued to elude him. "Well now, that's too bad since you're gonna have to come with me."

"What?" His sister bristled. "I will do nothing of the kind."

"You know I can't leave you here, Rory," he said, glancing up. "You'll give me up to the law."

She crossed her arms. "I will _not_ go with you."

"You _will_ – or everyone in this house is gonna die." He waited until she met his gaze. "You _know_ I'll do it."

"Without your savages to back you up?" she snapped.

Fleet growled. The tumblers simply _would_ not fall into place.

"Damn!" he cursed as he rose to his feet. Turning to his sister, he sneered, "I thought you knew. The Paiutes don't travel with me no more. I scared them off." Looking at the staircase, he added, his tone hushed and menacing, "Seems like I'm gonna have to find someone who knows the combination to the safe to open it. Maybe that _pretty_ boy..."

Fleet fell silent. Rory's eyes had gone wide. It took a moment, but then he saw it too – a light was advancing down the second floor hall.

"No..." she whimpered.

"That your _feller_ comin'?" he snickered as he pulled his six inch knife out of his boot.

The moonlight falling through the window behind the desk struck his sister's terrified face. He caught her arm and pulled her back into the shadows.

"You keep your mouth shut, Rory, and pretty boy might just make it out of this alive."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe yawned mightily as he made his way down the steps. He held an oil lamp in his left hand to light his way. The other one he used to comb through his thick brown curls in an attempt to tame the riotous mass his father always complained about. He needed a haircut, but if he was careful – and continued to curtail his errant curls inclination to run wild – he could probably make it another week or two before an ultimatum was issued. Joe shook his head. He really didn't understand what his pa had against a man having hair below his ears. After all, most everyone in the Bible had long hair and Pa always said they should pattern everything they did after the Good Book. Take Samson, for example. Samson got his strength from his hair. Maybe if he had hair long as Samson's he could do the work of two or three men.

Joe snorted as his feet hit the floor. He might just try that argument the next time.

Crossing to the fire, Joe put the lamp on the table and then checked to see if it needed tending. Hop Sing had banked the coals against the hearth wall and they were still glowing. This time of year they never let the fire go out since it took so long for the stones to heat back up again. Going to the wood box, he lifted the lid and selected a slender log. Placing it in the center of the fire, he used the poker to push it to the back of the hearth. Almost immediately the tiny branches with their dead leaves and dry needles caught and flared, and the scent of pine filled the room.

Sitting on the table in front of the settee, Joe watched the flames lick higher for a minute as he considered the nightmare that had awakened him. While he knew there was nothing to it, his pa and his brothers had been under threat and he couldn't get it out of his head that something was wrong. Joe scratched the back of his head, looked toward the kitchen, and yawned again. He'd thought maybe coming down for a glass of milk would help. His mama always gave him milk to get him back to sleep. The night was flying and he needed to be up early so he could get his chores done before Elizabeth came down. He'd promised her a horseback ride in the snow. He'd given her a pretty little pony named Freckles for her own while she visited, and she'd been pestering him to try the animal out. Joe thought he might even take her to the lake. It was beautiful this time of year and he wanted his young friend to see as much of the Ponderosa as possible before her time on the ranch was over.

Joe poked at the coals again, shifting the log so the other side of it caught. He felt bad for ignoring Elizabeth the night before. She'd been right. He'd been acting like a lovesick pup. Aurora Guthrie was just about as pretty as it got, but she was almost twice his age and had already married and buried a husband. He realized now all that smiling she'd been doin' wasn't flirting. It just meant she was nice. Joe snorted as he broke the log up and shifted the coals to the back so they rested against the hearth wall.

Elizabeth would have told him – and rightly so – to stop bein' 'silly'.

As he replaced the poker, he paused. There'd been something. A sound – soft – like feet shuffling, or maybe cloth brushing up against something. Joe turned into the room and stood still, listening for close to a minute. When the sound wasn't repeated he decided he was just being jumpy. It was probably that nightmare he'd had. It had been a whopper! Pa and his brothers had been on a cattle drive, just like they were now. Something spooked the cattle and they stampeded. He'd watched as Pa, along with Adam and Hoss, rode out to round them up. As they drew near the bottom of a cliff, there'd been a sound. Not a soft sound like he'd just heard, but a loud _crack!_ And then a _roar._

And then a mountain of snow had come down burying everything and _everyone_ below.

The curly-haired young man drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he shook his head. Yeah, that had to be it. _That's_ why he was jumping at shadows.

Leaving the lamp on the table, Joe walked past the dining room and went into the kitchen.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Aurora Rowse Guthrie was terrified, not for herself but for everyone else in the Cartwright household. She'd breathed a little easier when Joseph entered the kitchen, but knew such relief would not last long. Her villainous brother stood close behind her. She could feel Fleet's hot breath on her neck. He had one arm locked around her waist, holding her in place, while the other was extended and ended in a clenched fist that held a long, deadly blade. As the redhead stood there, barely breathing, her heart hammering in her chest, she whispered a silent prayer.

 _Please God_ , she mouthed. _Please keep Joseph from discovering us. Please let him go back upstairs unaware and unharmed. Fleet will kill him if he feels threatened. You know that!_

 _Please..._

Even as the words crossed her lips, Joseph returned. He was carrying a glass of milk and heading for the lamp he'd left by the settee.

 _Yes. Yes! Dear Lord, please... Please, send him back upstairs to bed!_

Her mother had assured her when she was little that God heard every prayer. She'd also assured her that the Lord knew best and that when things _didn't_ go the way she wanted, she had to give thanks anyway. If a prayer went unanswered, God had a reason.

Joseph had stopped beside the settee table, milk glass in hand. He was frowning and looking back their way.

Aurora hoped this was _not_ one of those times.

 _No, Joseph..._ She mouthed. _Go upstairs. Run upstairs. Don't be brave._

 _Joseph, hear me..._

He didn't.

Like a moth drawn to flame, Ben Cartwright's youngest boy headed for his father's office. The beam of silver moonlight struck him as he did, revealing his, oh, _so_ young face. It wore a puzzled look.

Boldly, she shook off Fleet's hand and stepped into the light.

Joseph stopped, startled. "Aurora?"

She smiled prettily as she slipped in front of the desk. "Yes, it's me. I'm...sorry if I frightened you. I couldn't sleep. I was..." She thought furiously. "I was looking out the window at the stars. It's such a clear night."

The young man's dark brows rolled inward until they nearly met in the center. "What were you doing?," he snorted. "Standing on Pa's desk?"

Oh, dear. She hadn't thought of that!

"No, I..." Aurora hesitated. _God. Words. Give me words!_ "Well, yes, I was. Not standing on it. On my knees really." She chuckled. "Like a little girl."

Joseph's brows dipped down into a frown. "Why not just open the door and go outside?"

"I didn't want to..." It was all she could do to keep from turning to make sure her wretched brother was where she'd left him. "I didn't want to unlock it. Your father...told me not to." Taking another step toward him, she indicated the milk, "Couldn't you sleep?"

"I could, and did until a bad dream woke me up." Joseph lifted the glass he held and grinned. "Mama's cure for a nightmare, and Pa's cure for just about everything else!"

 _Oh Lord! He's such a beautiful young man. Preserve him from evil._

She heard Fleet shift – anxious, restless – behind her.

Thank God! Joseph didn't.

"Well, then, since you have your 'cure'," she said, forcing a smile, "you'd best get back to bed,"

"What about you?" he asked after taking a sip.

Aurora hesitated. "I'm not quite sleepy yet."

"I can keep you company if you like," he offered.

"No." She said it quickly. _Too_ quickly. Lord, she was stupid! "Thank you. That's all right. I'll follow in a few minutes."

Joseph's unusual green eyes narrowed. He regarded her for a few seconds and then shrugged. "Now don't you go climbin' up on that desk again, you hear? It ain't safe!" he laughed.

"I won't," she promised.

"See you in the morning then."

Relief flooded through the redhead as the handsome young man turned and took a step toward the stairs.

It vanished a moment later as he pivoted sharply and called her name, "Aurora!" Joseph took a step forward. " Duck!" he shouted.

Fear choked any reply she might have formed as she did what he said.

A determined light had entered his eyes. Before she could cry 'Stop!" Ben Cartwright's youngest son threw the glass of milk. It whizzed past her and struck Fleet in the face.

Joseph's fists followed right behind it.

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Joe'd left the kitchen somewhat unsettled. For some reason Hop Sing wasn't there. Even though the man from China was probably out looking at the stars, their cook's absence left him uneasy. He almost went outside to look for him, but realized that meant he would be leaving Elizabeth and Aurora alone – and for some reason, that was something he felt he _shouldn't_ do. His pa had taught him early on to pay attention to his instincts. He said they could save a man's life. So, when he returned to the great room he'd been listening for anything out of the ordinary.

It was then Aurora stepped out of the shadows.

He'd realized something was wrong the second he saw her. The oil lamp he'd left on the table lit the space in front of his pa's desk and he could see as he approached that she was shaking like a leaf in an October wind. As the redhead spoke, his mind rolled over the reasons she might be standing there – she could have lost her way in the dark, ending up at the desk instead of the stairs, or maybe, like him, she simply couldn't sleep and had been walking the floor. It was even possible she'd been snooping around. Women were like that. They always wanted to know what made men tick. It was when she'd given him the lame excuse that she was looking at the stars, that he'd known his first impulse was right. Something was terribly wrong.

There was someone else in the room.

Whoever it was. they were hiding in the shadows behind the desk. He had no idea _who_ it might be or how they could have gotten into the house – unless, of course, Aurora had let them in. He'd kept his eyes on the shadows as he talked to her. There'd been a glint of something. Could be a belt buckle. Might have been a button.

Or maybe a gun.

His gaze shifted then to the credenza by the door. His gun belt was laying on its top. Since Elizabeth's arrival he hadn't worn it much. He hadn't needed to.

He sure wished he was wearing it now.

Asking Aurora if she wanted company – and having her refuse – was his last and final confirmation that what he was thinking was right. He'd decided by that time that she was in trouble, but was more afraid for _him_ than for herself, and that was something he just _couldn't_ let stand.

Besides, whoever it was had invaded _his_ home.

Joe's nostrils flared. He squinted his eyes and took aim even as he shouted her name.

"Aurora! Duck!"

Before the milk-filled glass found its mark he was flying after it, toward the shadow of a man who was reaching for the redhead's arm. Joe leapt over the desk and came down on the man hard and started hammering. Whoever it was, he thought he had him, but then he realized he was wrong. The man had been playin' possum. The stranger struck out suddenly and caught him on the chin and drove him to the floor.

Then he pinned him to the pine boards with his knife.

Joe sucked in air as the knife went into his shoulder and was abruptly withdrawn. Seconds later the bloodied edge of the sharp blade was pressed against his throat.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, Cartwright," a gruff voice ordered.

Joe's mind whirled. Who was this? Why were they here? Was Aurora involved? He wondered if Hop Sing had heard anything. He hoped not. And Elizabeth. When he was little, he could have slept through a train whistle blowing right next to his head.

 _God, let her sleep through this!_

The shock of the knife going in and out of him so quickly made Joe pant even as blood soaked the upper left side of his nightshirt. "Who...who are you?" he asked, faltering. "What do you w...want?"

"Well, let's see," the man replied, his tone mocking, "I'm standing next to a safe full of money and it ain't open. Do I have to spell it out?" Before he could react, the man lowered the knife and hauled him to his feet. Once he was up, the knife returned to his throat. "Now you just be a _good_ boy and open it."

"Joseph, do as he says," Aurora pleaded. "He'll kill you."

He shot her a look. "Are you in this with him?"

The redhead looked as if he had struck her. She shook her head.

Accepting that, Joe's eyes rolled back to the man who held him. "Tell me who you are," he demanded.

The knife blade nicked his skin. "Now ain't we the high-and-mighty Cartwright? _One_ more thing, boy. You say _one_ more thing that ain't answerin' a question I asked, and I'll go upstairs and get that little girl out of bed and hold this knife to _her_ throat. You hear me?"

"Believe him, Joseph," Aurora breathed. "Fleet will do what he says." She paused. "He's killed before."

Fleet.

Who the hell was 'Fleet'?

Joe fought to remain on his feet as he met the outlaw's hungry stare. He was losing blood and it was leaving his head empty. "So I'm answerin' your question," he sighed. "It ain't gonna do you any good to have me open the safe. It's empty."

" _Sure_ it is, Cartwright." The knife tip cut in deeper.

"I'm telling you the truth," he choked out. "Pa took it to the bank before he left on the drive. He didn't want it here in the house since I was gonna be alone with two women."

"And I would believe you...why?" Fleet snarled.

Joe blinked. "Cause its the truth."

The outlaw's fingers caught his wounded shoulder and squeezed the wound until tears rolled out of his eyes. "Humor me, Cartwright. Open it _anyhow."_

Fleet shoved him to his knees and then placed the end of the knife blade just under his ribcage on the left side. As he worked the combination, Joe's mind flew fast as Cochise on a summer day. He _was_ telling the truth. There might be a few hundred dollars in the safe, but that was all. Pa really _had_ taken the payroll money to the bank. The problem was, from the sense he had of the outlaw, the man wasn't going to be content with a few hundred dollars.

He was gonna be mad as a rabid dog.

"Hurry up! You better get it open before that Chink of yours catches wind something's up and ends up dead." Fleet paused. "Or that little girl."

Joe finished with the combination and opened the safe. When the outlaw withdrew the knife, he rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Look for yourself," Joe said.

Fleet glanced down. Anger erupted on his face when he saw what Joe said was true. Grabbing him again, he demanded, "Where's the rest of it!? Atticus said the safe was full!"

Joe frowned. _Atticus?_

The Reverend Godfrey was in it with this man?

"Like I told you, it _was_ ," he replied. _"_ Pa took it to the bank on his way out yesterday."

The knife pressed against his heart. "I should just stick you like a pig and let you bleed out."

It was all he could do to remain upright, but he wasn't going to let Fleet know that. Tightening his jaw, Joe countered, "You _could._ But that ain't gonna get you any money!"

Too late.

 _Too late_ , he realized what he'd said.

"That's right," Fleet mocked. "Thanks for reminding me, _Joseph_. Killing you _ain't_ gonna bring me anything, 'cept maybe _pleasure_." The outlaw snorted at his stricken look. "And important as that is to a man, money's even _more_ important. Having your daddy buy you back would make me a rich man."

Joe bristled. "Pa won't pay –"

"Stuff it kid!" the villain snarled. "It ain't worth your breath. Every one in Virginia City knows that Pa of yours would do anything for one of his boys – even sacrifice _himself."_

Joe quailed at the veiled threat.

Aurora had been quiet up until now. Joe wondered what her connection to this man was? Had he been wrong? _Had_ she come to the Ponderosa to provide a way for him to come in and rob them? Was she a part of this in spite of what she said?

Her next words dispelled that notion.

"Fleet," Aurora began, her voice trembling, " _don't_ do this. Please, leave Joseph and Elizabeth alone. Take what's in the safe and _go_. If you take Joe, you'll bring all of Virginia City down on your head. Please, as your sister, I'm begging you..."

 _Sister?_

Dear God...

The outlaw turned to her. "You know what, Rory? I knew you were here. I asked around town and heard you were at the Cartwrights. I wanted to see you before the robbery went down." An odd note entered his contemptible voice. " I... I want you to come with me. You're the only family I got left."

The redhead's jaw was tight. "You have no family, Fleet, because you _killed_ them."

Joe's eyes went from one to the other. He wondered what had happened – what had wounded Aurora so deeply and transformed this man she had grown up with and loved into a monster? He wondered too as he watched them, if this might be the _only_ opportunity he would get. The outlaw seemed distracted and his grip had lessened on his arm.

If there was a chance...

Aurora must have sensed his thoughts. Her eyes went wide. She met his gaze and gave a little shake of her head.

"Come with me, Rory," the man pleaded again.

The redhead's eyes never left his. "If you let Joseph go."

Fleet sighed. "You know I can't do that."

"Yes. Yes, you can," she implored _._ "Prove to me you're not the man I think you are. _Prove_ that there is some _good_ left in you – that those savages didn't drive it all out of you!"

The moonlight spilling in the window caught in the desperado's eyes. Joe shuddered at what he saw. If Fleet wasn't a demon, then he was demon-possessed. He'd seen that look before in the eyes of a mountain lion crouching for the kill, in a wolf's as he sprang for a man's throat – in that man's when his blood was up and nothing would satisfy him but the kill.

"You're right," Joe said suddenly. "My Pa _would_ ransom the Ponderosa to save me. I'll go with you. Just leave the women alone."

Fleet scoffed. "Well, now, aren't we the knight _gal_ - _ahnt."_

Aurora was shaking her head. "Joseph, no. You don't know what he's capable of."

Joe met her desperate stare. "You take care of Elizabeth, you hear?" he told her. "And don't let Hop Sing come after me. Make him get Pa. Aurora, you promise me!"

Fleet's grip tightened on his wounded shoulder, causing his head to spin. "No tricks, Cartwright."

"No tricks."

The outlaw grunted as he pulled him around the desk. Joe's mind was racing as quickly as his heart. Once they were on the road and away from the house, he'd take Fleet on. It would be tough with his wound, but he was sure he could overpower him.

Well, he was _pretty_ sure.

Fleet halted just in front of the desk and looked toward the door. To Joe's surprise, it was opening. As he watched two well-bundled men stepped into the ranch house. One was tall and thin, the other shorter and stout. Even as he identified Atticus Godfrey, a sense of movement drew his gaze up. Something was coming down. Something above his head. Just before it struck him, Joe recognized it as the bone handle of Flee Rowse's knife.

And the lights went out.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy Coffee shook himself like a dog, dislodging the piles of snow that had settled on his shoulders and hat. He glanced at Luke Warren who was doing the same thing beside him and smiled. This was Luke's first big snow and his eyes were about as wide as the near-full moon shining over their heads. He'd done his darnedest to get the boy back to that wife and those twins of his, but nature just wasn't in a mood to cooperate. They'd made it about ten miles down the road afore they'd realized there was just no going on in the dark. At first they'd tried to make camp, but finally had decided a night spent at the Cartwrights with a fire in the hearth, one of Hop Sing's nice hot toddies in their stomachs, and a soft bed under them , sounded a _whole_ lot better. On a normal day it would of taken 'em maybe two, three hours to back track, but with the roads drifted as they were, it had taken somethin' like five. It was well past midnight by the time they drew their cold and weary horses up to the Cartwright rail and tied their animals off. There was a light in the front room. He could tell 'cause it was shinin' through the window above Ben's desk. Most likely it was the fire, or maybe Little Joe had left a lamp burnin' in case that little girl had to come downstairs in the middle of the night. Roy sure hated to wake them all up, but short of breakin' and enterin' there wasn't any other way in, and he sure didn't want to spend the night camped out on the porch.

"You think anyone's awake?" Luke asked as he came to his side, chafin' his hands together and blowin' out steam.

"Hard to say. I seen a light."

"Should we knock?"

Roy eyed the little bell that hung near the door. He'd try knockin' first, but if that didn't work, they could always pull the string. Ben's boys had been taught to recognize the ringin' of that bell as a sign of danger and knew when they heard it that someone was in need of help.

Suppressin' a shiver, the lawman walked to the door. He lifted his hand and brought it down on the wooden surface – and drew in a sharp breath when the door slowly opened on its own. He exchanged a look with Luke.

A second later both of their guns were out.

Roy stepped up to the door. Pressing his shoulder against it, he called, "Little Joe! It's Roy Coffee. Little Joe, you there?"

His deputy opened his mouth to speak. Roy held up a finger and pressed it to his lips.

Somethin'. There was somethin'.

"Little Joe!"

When no reply came, Roy signaled Luke to stand to the side where he couldn't be seen. Then he put his hand to the door and shifted it in about six inches more. A single oil lamp was burnin' on the table in front of Ben's big hearth. The fire was just about done, which was another warnin' that somethin' was up. Hop Sing didn't never let that fire go out in the winter, 'specially not one this cold this early. Roy paused on the threshold, listenin'.

Then he heard it. A muffled sound.

Someone was cryin'.

With a nod to Luke, Roy counted down with his fingers from three to one and then the two of them stormed into house, guns drawn. At first he saw nothin'. Then, he saw _two_ things – someone was layin' on the floor between the dining room and the great room, and someone else was sittin' at the table.

Seemed like a funny time to be eatin'.

With a signal to Luke to head up the stairs to the second floor and see what was goin' on up there, Roy made for the dining room. As the moonlight spillin' in the window struck the figure on the floor he realized it was a good thing mother nature had turned them around.

Or maybe it was God.


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

Kneelin' by the figure on the floor, Roy took hold of the gag that had been stuffed in the Chinaman's mouth and removed it as gently as he could.

"Sheriff Roy! Sheriff Roy!" Hop Sing shouted as soon as he was free. "You no worry about Hop Sing! Bad men take Little Joe! You go find him! _Find_ Little Joe!"

Why did it not surprise him it was Little Joe who'd gone missin'?

Ignoring the Chinaman's tirade for the moment, Roy untied his wrists and helped him to sit up. Not that he wasn't worried about Little Joe, but things had to be done in an order. As he finished, he glanced at the person sittin' at the table. Danged, if it wasn't that pretty Widow Guthrie and she was tied up too! He'd heard Ben had hired her to come out while he was gone to help with the Carnaby girl.

"You leave Hop Sing!" Ben's cook pleaded as he rose to his feet. "You go after Little Joe! Bad men take him!"

He'd gone over to Mrs. Guthrie. The poor thing looked like she was just about _all_ in. Tears were streamin' down her face and she was shakin' harder than a cat starin' down a dog. There weren't no color left in her cheeks or lips and she looked like she might be sick.

As her gag came away, she echoed Hop Sing's fears. "Sheriff, he's right. You have to go after Joseph. My brother will kill him if he so much as _looks_ at himthe wrong way!"

Roy chewed the inside of his lip as he loosened the tie holding her to the chair. "Your brother?"

She nodded. "Fleet Rowse."

 _Fleet Rowse?_ Now why did that name sound familiar?

Roy thought a moment and then snapped his fingers. He'd be _danged_ if that wasn't the name of the ugly hombre on the wanted poster he'd showed Little Joe just that day! Rowse was wanted for just about everythin' bad on God's green earth as well as a few other planets. The outlaw had escaped from the penitentiary. A fellow lawman in Carson City had sent him that poster so's he'd know Rowse if he saw him.

Roy took hold of Mrs. Guthrie's arm and drew her toward the settee. "Now you two come over here and sit down and tell me what happened."

"Little Joe gone!" Hop Sing shouted.

Roy winced. That little Chinaman could bellow loud as Ben when he wanted to.

"First off, Hop Sing," he said, keeping his voice down, "I don't think we want to wake that little girl upstairs, so keep your voice down." When the China man looked properly contrite, he continued, "Now, I know Little Joe's been taken by somebody, maybe this here Rowse, and the boy's in a heap of trouble, but I need you two to tell me all you know before I can go out and try to –" The lawman stopped. Luke was comin' down the stairs.

"Anythin'?" he asked.

"Just the little girl and she's asleep," his deputy answered. "There's no one else upstairs. I did find a window open at the end of the hall."

"That's how Fleet got in," the pretty redhead sighed. "There were two other men. One of them was here before. He left the window open."

"Two other men working with Rowse?" Roy sat down. He and Luke were still wearin' their winter gear and it was heavy and he was tired. "What'd they look like?"

"One tall like beanpole!" Hop Sing declared. "Other fat as Christmas ham!"

"I think the tall one was the preacher that came into town with Elizabeth on the stage," the woman said. "Joseph seemed to know of him."

"Stick man not man of God. Man of Devil!" the Chinaman added.

Roy nodded. He remembered them both. The short and stocky businessman had gotten off the stage before Elizabeth and the tall, thin parson had followed. At the time he hadn't realized they were together. Now that he thought of it, he remembered seeing a poster on a similar pair. They were conmen, not particularly dangerous so far as anyone knew, still there were suspicions that they'd been involved in several schemes where someone ended up dead. Working with someone else, most likely, who did the dirty work. He wondered now if that 'someone else' was Rowse.

Roy sighed. If Fleet Rowse _was_ the man who took Little Joe, then Hop Sing had a reason to be shoutin'.

Turning to Luke, the lawman said, "Boy, why don't you go into the kitchen and see if you can rustle us up some grub and maybe put on a pot of coffee. I think we're gonna need it."

Ben's cook was on his feet. "Hop Sing get lawmen food..."

"You sit your hind end right back down there on that settee, Hop Sing," Roy ordered. "I need to hear what you have to say about everythin' that's happened."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As Luke headed for the Cartwright's kitchen, Hop Sing and Aurora Guthrie began to tell their tales. So intent was Roy Coffee on what they were saying, that he failed to notice a shift in the shadows at the top of the stairs and a pair of small hands gripping the rails. Elizabeth Carnaby had been sound asleep, dreaming that it was summer and she and Little Joe were at the lake. They'd been skipping stones and she'd been winning. Little Joe had just turned to challenge her to another game when a sound made her jump. Opening her eyes, she realized she'd been asleep but was awake now and someone was opening the door to her bedroom.

Thinking it was Little Joe or Mrs. Aurora and either one of them would be mad if she was still awake, she'd hunkered down under her blankets and watched from under her lids as a man she didn't know walked into the room and came to the side of her bed. He stood there for about half a minute looking down and then went back out, closing the door behind him. Elizabeth listened as the man's steps went down the hall. It was silent for a couple of minutes, and then they came back and went downstairs. When it was quiet again she slipped on her slippers, went to the door and opened it a crack, and looked out. Seeing no one in the hall, she went to the top of the staircase and looked down and was surprised to find Hop Sing and Mrs. Aurora sitting on the settee and Sheriff Roy Coffee occupying one of the chairs across from them. She thought about joining them, but then remembered that grown-ups, while they didn't exactly lie, were awful good at pretendin' nothing was wrong when there was a little kid around. If she really wanted to know what was happening, she needed to stay put and out of sight!

Elizabeth hugged the shadows as she leaned her face against the rail and listened.

"Now, Hop Sing, why don't you tell me your story first?" Sheriff Roy asked. Elizabeth noticed a big old winter coat laying next to the lawman on the hearth, so she figured he must have just come in from outside. The man who had been in her room was sitting next to him, leaning forward and pouring coffee. It was Luke, the sheriff's deputy. When the man from China didn't answer, the sheriff asked again, "Hop Sing?"

What she saw when Hop Sing looked at Sheriff Roy sent shivers down Elizabeth's back.

Little Joe's friend was crying.

"Hop Sing fail in duty," he said, his voice so soft she almost couldn't hear him. "All Hop Sing's fault. Bad men take Little Joe! Kill him!"

Elizabeth's knuckles went white where they gripped the rails. Something had happened to little brother while she'd been sleeping! She felt almost as guilty as Hop Sing.

"Slow down, now. Tell me what happened," Sheriff Roy tried again.

The Chinese man sighed. "Hop Sing get ready for bed after finish cleaning. Glance out window at cold night. Stars so clear it seem one could hold them."

The sheriff guessed. "So you went outside?"

"Take walk. Look at stars." Little Joe's friend scowled. "Hop Sing see plenty of stars when someone hit over head."

"Someone hit you?" Luke asked. "Did you see who?"

He shook his head. "Hop Sing see no one then. See man while he tie Hop Sing up." Anger crackled in his black eyes. "Man called Atticus. He betray Mr. Cartwright who welcome him as friend." Hop Sing drew a ragged breath. "Take Mr. Cartwright's number three son."

"Did you see anyone else?"

The Chinese man nodded. "Outside see fat man. He do no work, just follow." His voice fell. "Inside see devil. He standing over Little Joe."

Elizabeth bit her lip to stop from crying out. That meant little brother was laying on the floor. What had the bad men done to him?

"So the boy was knocked out?" Sheriff Roy asked.

"Joe was stabbed too," Mrs. Aurora said softly. "I saw Fleet do it."

Stabbed?

That meant Little Joe had been bleedin' when the bad men took him outside!. Elizabeth swallowed over her fear. She had to help him!

The lawman stood and began to pace, all the while shaking his head. "That's not good. Not good at all." He turned to the redhead and asked, "Tell me, did they bundle the boy up at all? Before takin' him out into – that, I mean?"

Elizabeth looked where he was looking. The drapes were pulled back on the window over the dining room table. Snow was falling steadily outside.

Mrs. Guthrie shook her head. "No. Fleet ordered the other two men to tie up Hop Sing and me and then they carried Joseph out into the night. He had his nightshirt on and, I think, maybe a light pair of pants." Her jaw was tight. "If you turn the lamp up and look by the desk, you'll see. He was bleeding."

Elizabeth felt her world turn upside-down. Some mean old man hurt Little Joe and stole him right out from under her nose! She stood and backed up into the corridor and began to pace – back and forth, back and forth. Sheriff Roy was going to go looking for little brother and sure-as-shootin' he wasn't going to let her go along! He'd probably make her go back to town with Mrs. Aurora so she'd be _safe._ The little girl halted. Well, she wasn'tgoing to let _that_ happen. Just _let_ him try to make her go somewhere safe while her little brother was out in the snow with some bad man threatenin' to hurt him! Elizabeth drew a deep, steadying breath and let it out slowly. _She_ knew Little Joe better than the sheriff or Mrs. Aurora. The first thing he'd do would be try to get away. Since he was hurt, he'd need someone to help him. _She'd_ dragged him a mile uphill from the creek to her house after the bad men had left him in that burning house.

She'd saved him before and she could do it again!

As she stood there, thinking furiously, Elizabeth realized it had grown really quiet. Moving back to the stair she held to the shadows and glanced down, only to find Sheriff Roy looking up. The lawman looked kind of puzzled, like maybe he thought he'd heard something. As he started up the stairs, she bounded back to her room and dove under the covers. Pulling them up to her chin, she closed her eyes. Little Joe told her Roy Coffee didn't have any children of his own, so she figured foolin' him wouldn't be too hard. As the door to her room opened, she evened out her breathing and smiled a little smile like she was havin' a good dream. The lawman came to her side, reached out and touched her head, and then left the room.

Elizabeth sat up as soon as he was gone. She looked around her room, wonderin' if she had everything she needed. Fortunately, her winter coat, hat, pattens and warm gloves, were in the wardrobe rather than hanging on a peg downstairs like Little Joe's. They'd planned on going for a horse ride and a walk in the snow today and Hop Sing had brought them up so she could get ready.

She wasn't gonna use them to take a walk in no snow. No, siree!

 _She_ was goin' on a manhunt.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe shivered uncontrollably on the snow-covered ground and groaned, and then groaned again as someone kicked him in the ribs.

"Shut up!" Fleet Rowse snarled.

He'd like to have complied, but the first two groans had come on their own and the next one did too.

"I told you to _shut up!"_ This time Rowse bent over and took hold of him. "First thing someone comes ridin' up here 'cause they heard you, Cartwright, you're _dead_. I don't care _how_ rich your pa is, ain't no amount of money worth going back to that _hell hole_ of a prison!"

Joe bit his lip so hard it bled in order to stifle the next cry. He supposed it wasn't worth trying to explain that if the outlaw wanted him to be quiet, he shouldn't have put a _hole_ in his shoulder in the first place. In the second place, he shouldn't touch it.

Like he was now.

As tears streamed down his cheeks, Fleet Rowse scoffed. "Pretty boy's hurtin' bad, ain't he?" The outlaw's hand hovered over the wound. "Here, let me make it all better."

Joe sucked in air and held it against the torture of his touch. For a second the sky descended and all he could see was stars. Then it went black.

Seconds later, unfortunately, Rowse swam back into view.

"Leave him alone, Fleet," a high-pitched nasal voice whined. "The boy's no good to us dead." Atticus Godfrey came to stand over him. "And for God's sake, give the boy a coat. If your torture doesn't kill him, the falling temperatures will."

Rowse rose to his feet. He went nose to nose with the fake reverend. "So _you're_ givin' the orders now?"

The tall man hesitated. He pulled at his white collar. "It was only a suggestion."

"A suggestion? Well, now, that's right." The outlaw pulled himself up and adopted what he thought was an elegant air. "We're just havin' a disagreement between _gentlemen_ , ain't we?"

"You two bicker like an old married couple," Noyes Runyon groused. "It's obvious the boy has to die no matter what. He can identify all three of us. Still, let's try to keep him alive long enough to write that note to, and be seen by his father, shall we?"

Well, that was discouraging.

Joe'd kind of been hoping at least _one_ of them was on his side.

"I'm not writin' any note!" he snarled with all of the ferocity a very tired, weak, and nearly frozen-solid seventeen-year-old could muster.

Rowse dropped to his knees beside him. He picked up his bound hands and tapped on the left one. "I noticed you're a Southpaw. How about I break every finger on that hand, slowly, one by one until you do?"

"He won't be able to write the note then, you ignoramus," Noyes barked.

The outlaw was on his feet in a minute. "Who you callin' an 'ignoramus'?"

"You, you cretin!" Noyes didn't seem to be the least bit intimidated by Rowse, which was interesting. "Perhaps it would have been better to say, 'savage'. After all, that's what you are, just like the Paiutes who raised you." The fat businessman shook his head. "What sort of animal are you that you think of cruel pleasure first?" Joe watched the fat man's face as he turned and looked at him where he was laying on the ground. There was almost... Well, _almost_ sympathy there.

Fleet Rowse had grown very still. His knife was in his hand. "I can show you what kind of a man I am if you want."

Joe heard a _click!_ Faster than he could follow, Noyes had drawn. There was a small derringer in his hand.

"Rock crushes scissors," the fat man sneered as he moved to Joe's side while waving Rowse away. "Now, why don't you go see to the horses? Oh, and while you're there, Fleet, please restrain your urge to kill any of them. We _do_ need the animals to get away."

Like they said, if looks could of killed, Noyes Runyon would've been dead.

Once the outlaw had disappeared, Runyon crouched at his side. The man was dressed in a near-black seal-skin coat. Just looking at its promised warmth made Joe feel even colder.

"You seem like a smart boy," Noyes said without preamble.

Joe said nothing.

"I want to draw a picture for you, young Joseph Cartwright, and then we'll see if you are feeling any more cooperative."

"Why should I cooperate if you're just gonna kill me?" he demanded between chattering teeth.

"I regret the necessity of your death, young sir, but you can see where I am coming from, can you not? Without your witness, everything is hearsay."

Runyon was a strange man. Maybe even stranger than Rowse.

The fat man sighed. "While I have _some_ control over the prison escapee we were regrettably forced to employ while he is _in_ my presence, I have none over him if he chooses to strike out on his own. He has already made threats against your family for holding his sister hostage – "

"Aurora isn't a hostage!" Joe shot back. "She doesn't want to go with him. She's terrified of Rowse!"

"And with good cause." Noyes made a face. "Fleet is slightly...unhinged. Even if I _can_ keep him from killing your family outright, he says he will burn your house down with everyone in it, if you don't cooperate."

Joe paled. "What?"

Noyes shrugged. "He has a thing about fire. I can assure he'll carry it through. He had plenty of practice when he rode with Red Pony."

Hearing that name was like steppin' on a rattler. Red Pony was chief of a renegade band of Paiutes who'd made burning and looting almost a profession.

"Rowse rode with Red Pony?"

" _Lived_ with him. Fleet was taken captive when he was around five years of age. His people found him when he a young boy." He paused. "Fleet ran away from _them_ and returned to the Indians."

Joe swallowed over a lump of fear. "Aurora said he'd _...killed_ his family."

"It's true. Everyone of them but the girl. She was away at the time." The fat man's thick eyebrows danced up toward his thinning hair. "It was his way of proving himself to his _new_ family."

"Why isn't he with the Indians now?" Joe asked.

Noyes Runyon snorted. "Rowse is a lunatic. He took too many risks and they turned on him too." The businessman held his gaze. "You may not be able to understand this, young Cartwright, but a man who has no ties has nothing to lose." Runyon reached into his pocket and produced a pencil and paper.

"Now, about that note..."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy Coffee woke with a start. He shifted and sat up. He'd been sittin' on Ben Cartwright's fancy settee, feelin' mighty guilty that he might muss it up, when he fell asleep. Runnin' a hand through his thinning hair, he glanced out the window. The first rays of light were just beginnin' to penetrate the tall Ponderosa pines surroundin' Ben Cartwright's grand house. Shiftin' his hand to his face, he ran his fingers across the stubble and then pulled at his chin. Last night when he made the decision to rest up for a few hours, he was sure he'd heard Ben bellowin' at him to get on the road and look for his boy. Much as he wanted to, it just didn't make no sense. It had been black as the minister's coat outside at the time and there was no way they could have looked for a trail, let alone found it. He'd just had to trust to God and what he knew of Ben's youngest. Little Joe was hot-headed and would as soon jump in a lake as look at one, but he was also resourceful. That boy had just about the best luck he'd ever seen, at least when it come to gettin' out of scrapes alive that would have left any other man dead.

Now when it came to cards and women, well, that was a _different_ matter.

Chuckling at his own joke, Roy rose to his feet and went to wake Luke, who was twisted up like one of them there Sturgis pretzels in Ben's big blue chair. As the young man unfolded and found his feet, Roy went to the window and looked out. Sometime during the night it had stopped snowin'. The land was blanketed a good foot deep, but at least no more was fallin'. He was gonna send Luke back to town with Mrs. Guthrie. He'd talked to Hop Sing about sendin' the little Carnaby girl with her, but it seemed the girl's folks were due any time and the China man was worried what they'd think if they didn't find her where she was supposed to be.

Still, it rankled with him leavin' Hop Sing and the girl alone.

As for him, he had to make a choice. Odds were there'd be a ransom note comin' this way sometime soon. If he set out to look for Little Joe, he just might miss it. If he missed it – and there was no one to get it to his Pa – well, then, those men might just do somethin' bad to the boy. He'd told Luke, once he'd delivered the widow to town, to take time to visit his wife and young'uns and then to hit the trail and head up into the high country to let Ben and his older boys know what was goin' on. No, it seemed like the best thing he could do for the moment was co-ordinate, as they'd say. In the thirty-odd years he'd been a lawman, he'd learned a thing or two. One of them was how to wait. A young'un like Luke, why, he'd head out faster than a cat lappin' chain lightnin', never thinkin' about the thunder that came before and after. That thunder, why, it was the most important of all. It rolled slow over the land, rattlin' even the bones of the earth, revealin' the things the lightnin' was just too dang impatient to find.

Roy lifted his head and sniffed. Hop Sing was up and cookin' breakfast. It was always interestin' to him how men coped with worry. Some pretended it didn't exist. Some took their worryin' out on others. Hop Sing, well, it sounded like he was takin' it out on them fancy pans what Ben had bought him, The sheriff shook his head. That Chinaman of Ben's loved all three of Ben's sons somethin' fierce, but there was somethin' special between him and Little Joe. After Ben's third wife died, there was many a day there was no one in the house but Hop Sing and Ben's youngest. Whenever he'd come to visit, he'd find the boy sitting on the block table in the kitchen, his legs danglin' down, talkin' the China man's ear off while he peeled potatoes or shredded bread for crumbs. He knew Hop Sing wanted to go with him to hunt for Little Joe, but the cook wasn't a lawman or a tracker and odds were, he wasn't gonna last long in the cold. Maybe it was a good thing that Carnaby girl was visitin'. It'd keep the Chinaman out of his hair by givin' Hop Sing someone to worry about while he looked for Joe.

Roy drew a breath and let it out slowly as his eyes returned to the white world beyond the window.

The lightnin' had done struck.

Now he had to give the thunder time to do its job.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Elizabeth stood at the top of the stair, watching Sheriff Roy's deputy leave the house with Mrs. Aurora on his arm. They were both all bundled up against the cold. Seeing them, in their heavy coats and scarves, while little brother's coat hung on the rack by the door was almost more than she could stand! Shifting her gaze, she looked at the dining room table in front of the window. Sheriff Roy was seated there reading one of Mister Ben's papers while Hop Sing poured him coffee. How, she wondered, _how?_

How could they act so... _normal?_

Well, if they could do it, she could too – at least long enough to fool them that she was okay with things like they were. Before coming down she'd made sure she had her winter coat, hat, and all the other stuff she'd need in one place, and then gone to Little Joe's room and unlocked the window. Little brother had told her stories about all the times he'd climbed out of that window and gone out to do somethin' after he was supposed to be asleep. He'd started doing it when he was younger than she was, so she knew she could make it too. She was sure Sheriff Roy would be riding out soon to see if he could find any of the bad men's tracks. She'd wait until he did and then slip out and go to the barn and saddle Freckles. She was gonna follow the sheriff. From what he'd said the night before about waitin' on a ransom note, she was sure he'd come back to the house before doing anything about any tracks he found. _She_ wouldn't. She'd ride straight on until she found Little Joe and get him away from those bad men and bring him back home.

But for now...

"Morning!" Elizabeth chirped as she bounced down the stairs. "That coffee sure smells good!" When both men turned puzzled looks on her, she laughed. "That's what Little Joe always says when he's comin' down the stairs." She finished her trek to the table before asking, innocently, "Where _is_ Little Joe?"

"Well, now, good morning, Miss Elizabeth," Sheriff Roy said as he put the paper down. "Don't you look right pretty."

She had her teal-green dress on – the one Mister Cartwright had bought her. It was pretty, but it was also the warmest and _widest_ thing she had. She'd piled layers and layers of petticoats on underneath it until it stuck straight out.

In fact, she felt kind of like an upside-down parasol.

"Thank you, Sheriff," she replied as she took her seat. When neither man said anything more, she asked again, "Where's little brother?"

Hop Sing's eyes flicked to the lawman. "Little Joe go out early, Missy Elizabeth. He..."

"...went to town to see if there were any telegrams from his pa and brothers," the lawman finished for him.

Elizabeth looked from one man to the other. Both of them looked guilty as Jack had when Ma found that frog he'd brought in and put in the stove to keep it warm. So _that_ was how they were going to play it. They weren't going to tell her _anything_.

Grown-ups!

A little smile quirked her lips. So she guessed she didn't have to tell them anything _either._

"Oh," she said, looking sad. "When's he comin' back? Little Joe told me he'd take me out ridin' today."

Sheriff Roy shook his head. "Hard to say. The road's gonna be right tricky this mornin'. Might take him longer than usual."

"Hop Sing take Missy out in snow later if she want. We have fun," the Chinese man offered.

Hop Sing was the one part of her plan she felt bad about. She didn't want to hurt him, and she knew when he found she was gone, he'd feel right guilty about it. Like _he'd_ done somethin' wronginsteadof her.

Elizabeth thoughts flew. What would convince them that she didn't want to go? Maybe she shouldn't have bounced down the steps with a smile on her face. Then she could've said she didn't feel good. As Hop Sing served her some eggs and bacon, she considered what her friend Josie would have done in a situation like this – one where she needed to be _sneaky._

After taking a few bites – with a little frown – Elizabeth shoved the plate away, pressed her fingers to her forehead, and let a little moan escape.

"Somethin' wrong with Missy?" Hop Sing asked immediately.

Josie said this worked with men, since they didn't have them very often. "I've got a headache," she moaned. "Must be the weather."

Keep it mysterious, Josie said. Don't give a reason they can _do_ anythin' about.

Little Joe's friend was frowning. "What weather have to do with missy's headache?"

"I always get headaches when it snows big." She poured every ounce of pain and a desire for understanding into the look she gave him. Josie would be proud, even her eyes were tearing up. "I...don't know why."

Sheriff Roy was eying her. "You have that there headache when you woke up?"

Men are dumb, Josie's voice scolded in her head. Don't make it complicated.

They'll believe just about anything.

"No. But my head felt kinda funny that's why I was kind of goofy." She sighed. "Sometimes I have to be up for a while. You know, its like when you fall off a horse, you get up fine but the next day everything hurts."

He might not be a pa, but Sheriff Roy was a lawman. He was frowning. Or maybe it wasn't because he was a lawman, but because he'd been married.

Maybe his wife had headaches too.

"So what are we gonna do about it! This here headache of yours?" he asked.

"I just need to go lay down somewhere dark," she answered meekly. "The light hurts my eyes."

"What about little missy's breakfast?" Hop Sing asked.

He'd bring her a tray later if she didn't eat something. Grabbing a biscuit, she replied, "I'll take this with me and eat it later. The headache kind of turns my stomach."

The Chinese man was frowning. "Hop Sing see Missy Elizabeth back to bed. Bring tea up for tummy and _then_ let sleep."

That was as good as it got.

She smiled. "Thank you, Hop Sing." Turning to the lawman she asked, "What are you gonna do today, Sheriff Roy?"

"What? Me?" he huffed and then answered. "Thought I'd take me a nice long ride. I'll be back afore supper."

"Maybe Little Joe will be back by then too," she threw in, just for good measure.

They thought she missed it, but she didn't. The two men exchanged glances.

"Maybe," Roy said.

"Maybe," Hop Sing echoed.

They didn't believe it, but _she_ did. Little Joe most certainly would be home for supper.

After all, how hard could it be to find him?


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

Ben Cartwright pulled his hat down over his eyes and his collar up close about his throat. It had been a long and cold night. He'd been delayed in Virginia City when, of all things, he'd had to prove to a young upstart of a bank manager that he _was_ Benjamin Cartwright before the fool would let him deposit the payroll money in his own account! The manager he'd known for more than a decade was gone on holiday until after the first of the year and the board had chosen a young whippersnapper to fill in for him. A man with 'new' ideas.

"I have an idea," Ben grumbled. "How about hiring someone with experience..."

"You say something, Pa?"

Ben turned to look at his oldest son. He'd ridden hard all morning, following the road to the tower of rocks that marked the area of the closest line shack, and then heading due north to join the others. He caught up to Adam and Hoss more quickly than he expected. They, like him, had been slowed down by the ferocity of the sudden storm and had not yet met up with the other men on the drive. His sons were about halfway to the place where the cattle were gathered and had been breaking camp when he appeared. After greeting him, Adam threw another log on the fire and heated up what remained of their breakfast. While he ate, his the boys completed their work.

The older man was grateful for both the food _and_ the company. He had tossed and turned throughout the long snowy night, his sleep troubled by nightmare images of his Little Joe and his young charge stumbling into some kind of trouble. A broken axle on the carriage, stranding them in the frigid cold. One or the other of them coming down with pneumonia because of it. Or – and this was the most disturbing – Joseph ending up buried alive by a steady and silent fall of snow.

That was the one that woke him and _kept_ him awake.

"Did I say something? I certainly did!" the older man groused as he took a sip of coffee and relished both the taste and the warmth it lent him.

"Still mad about what happened at the bank?"

Ben scowled as he swirled the dark liquid in his cup and took another sip. " I am,' he admitted. "I don't know why the board thought some foolhardy youngster of thirty could manage a bank!"

"Er, Pa..."

"What kind of experience can you have when you are barely out of diapers – "

"Pa!"

Ben rounded on his oldest son. " _What?"_

Adam pursed his lips and waved a hand. "Me. Here. Thirty."

"Oh...yes... Well, I didn't mean you..." the older man sputtered. "Besides, you're an _old_ thirty."

"Never heard a better description, Pa," Hoss snorted as he came to their side. "Truth to tell, you'd think Adam was on the high side of fifty 'cause he's so crotchety and stuffy most of the time!"

Ben hid his smile behind his cup. Waving his free hand, he said, "Me. Here. _Fifty_."

They all shared a laugh over that.

Some fifteen minutes later the camp was broken, the campfire extinguished, and his sons were ready to go. Adam came to find him. He'd slipped away at the last minute to check on Buck. His faithful horse had been in need of a quality period of rest before starting out again and he wanted to make certain it had been long enough. Finding Buck in good spirits, he'd begun to check the tackle. As he adjusted one of the straps, he'd been suddenly and unexpectedly overwhelmed by a deep, rising fear. The older man stood now, one of the leather straps hanging loose in his gloved hand, staring toward home.

"He'll be all right," a soft voice said.

It was Adam.

With a start, Ben turned to find his oldest boy regarding him with an affectionate smile. "Who are you talking about?"

His son pursed his lips and shrugged. "Little Joe. Who else?"

With a _harrumph_ Ben went back to tightening the strap. "Do you aways assume your younger brother will be in trouble the minute he's out of our sight?"

Adam was a man of many talents – hiding his amusement at his father's concern for his baby brother was not one of them.

"Don't _you?"_

Ben pulled on the strap one last time. "Your younger brother can take of himself. Why would you assume that I'm worried about – "

"Uh...Pa," he replied with a shake of his head. "I'm not assuming. It's written all over your face."

"I'm not worried, son. It's just..." He hated to admit it – that he was an old man who'd had a bad dream he couldn't shake. With a sigh, he did anyhow. "I had a nightmare about your brother. What happened in it has left me...well, unsettled."

"That must be where Little Joe gets it," Hoss said as he joined them. "I keep tellin' Adam Joe's got a lot of _you_ in him, Pa."

"Thank you, son," he said, and meant it.

Still, remembering his _own_ wild and misspent youth, that statement did little to soothe his fears.

Adam snorted. "I doubt Pa ever caused his parents' nightmares."

"There you're wrong, son," Ben laughed. "I gave them _plenty_ of sleepless nights. I guess... Maybe its _because_ I see myself in Joseph that I worry so about him."

"A rake makes the shrewdest parent, is that your theory, Pa?" his oldest asked with a grin.

He had to admit it. After all, he had gotten by with 'murder' as a boy. He knew well all of the avenues that could lead a young man into trouble and anticipated them with Marie's son. Ben smiled. At least Joseph had an excuse with his vivacious and untamable mother.

His had been quite the solid, steady, woman.

"So what's got you riled, Pa?" Hoss asked as he stamped his feet and pulled his collar up around his chin to seal what lay beneath from the chill.

"In the dream Elizabeth and Little Joe were out in the snow. Something happened and your brother was left behind." His voice became hushed. "Joseph was slowly buried under it."

Adam shrugged it off. "Sounds like a reasonable enough nightmare for a man sleeping out in the snow."

"Sure does, Pa. You was probably just feelin' the cold." Hoss's smile was as reassuring as the big man could make it. "I know I felt like I was buried under a heap of it while I was curled up in that little thin blanket last night."

They were right. To start with Little Joe's foot was not healed. If he and Elizabeth had gone out, it would have been in a sleigh. There would be no reason Joseph would be on foot. Plus he had told his son to take Hop Sing with them.

Two children and a Chinese cook.

 _That_ did a lot to steady his nerves.

"You want me to ride home and check?" Adam asked.

Ben hesitated. _Did_ he? All three of them were needed to help drive the cattle through what was bound to be treacherous terrain. But they weren't there now and the men were getting by. Still, it would take his eldest the better part of a day to get back to the house, and then another to return. So, two at least that Adam would be gone.

And he didn't know for _certain_ that anything was wrong...

"No. No, son. Thanks for asking, but there's no need." Ben put his foot in the stirrup and mounted. Pointing the buckskin's nose north, he began to move. "Come on. It's time we caught up with the others."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Behind his back, Adam and Hoss Cartwright exchanged glances. "I've got twenty in my saddlebag," Adam said.

Hoss pursed his lips and squinted. "I only got fifteen."

"Fifteen it is then. So how long do you think?"

Hoss looked after their father. "Thirty"

Adam shook his head. "I say twenty."

Ben Cartwright's middle son stuck his hand out. "Bet."

His older brother shook it. "Deal."

In the end they both lost.

It wasn't ten minutes later that Adam was on the road and riding back to the Ponderosa.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy Coffee stood at the front door of Ben Cartwright's house with his hand on the knob. His heart was hammerin' in his chest. He'd been sittin' pretty as a jay bird at the dining room table, sippin' coffee and readin' the paper, when somethin' struck the wood door hard. The sound made him jump clean out of his chair and toss the coffee out of the cup he was holdin'. The hot liquid hit Hop Sing square in the chest as he came runnin' out of the kitchen yellin' somethin' in that there gibberish language of his, stunnin' the China man into silence. He was silent still as he stood beside him now – holdin' his breath, he imagined.

That was okay, so was he.

Roy knew what he found when he opened the door could change the lives of the people in Ben Cartwright's house forever. With a glance at his old friend's cook, he opened it slowly.

Only to find an arrow stuck smack in the middle of it.

Roy scowled. There weren't too many Indians left in these parts nowadays. Most of them had done been run out by settlers or soldiers. Weren't fair, of course, but that was how life was – there were conquerors and there were the ones they done conquered. Wasn't always one side good and the other bad. Lots of times there were what people liked to call 'extenuatin' circumstances'. That was a term those city lawyers was awful fond of. Roy wondered about the man what had let loose the arrow stuck in Ben's door. He didn't think he was a city slicker – just like he didn't think any of those extenuatin' circumstances would have applied. No, there were two things about that arrow stickin' in the Cartwright's door that told Roy whatever man had shot it had been acquainted with the Indians, and he was the bad man what had taken Little Joe.

Upwards of five inches of the arrow's shaft was painted in blood and there was a note attached to it.

"What happen? You see Little Joe?" Ben's cook asked.

Roy held up a hand to signal it would be just a minute as he narrowed his pale blue eyes and scanned the tree line at the front of the house. Then he pulled his gun and stepped out onto the porch. When nothing happened, he turned back to the arrow. It didn't want to come out of the door, so he undid the bit of rawhide holding the note to the shaft and took it off. Then, with a last look at the yard, Roy stepped back into the house and closed the door behind him.

As he read the note, Hop Sing pressed him, "Sheriff Roy tell Hop Sing what note say."

Roy scowled. He hated to show the dang thing to the China man, but he had to be sure. Before he handed it over, the lawman said, "Now, Hop Sing, I don't want you going off half-cocked, you hear me? You just take a look at this and tell me for sure that it's Little Joe's handwritin'."

As Hop Sing read the note, tears entered his eyes. When they came to the last line, several fell.

He couldn't blame him. The note had tears on it too and the last line and signature was written in the boy's blood.

Hop Sing handed the paper back. "That Little Joe's handwriting."

Roy nodded. He'd thought so from the way it was bent west instead of east. He read it again.

 _Pa, I'm sorry. I had to do it to save Elizabeth. Three men are holding me. Fleet Rowse is one of them. Rowse says you have to come alone, Pa, and you have until dawn day after tomorrow to bring ten thousand dollars to the Paiute graveyard. Leave it under the crossed spears and ride away. Rowse says to tell you his quiver holds 10 arrows. He says he'll be watching and if he sees any lawmen or anyone else coming around before or with you, when you find me, the other nine will be in me._

 _I love you, Pa. Joe._

"What we do?" Hop Sing breathed.

Roy didn't say anythin', but he knew about Rowse and he knew full well the minute the outlaw got his hands on that money Little Joe would be dead. Rowse was the type who'd take pleasure in makin' Ben Cartwright and his other boys hurt. Fleet Rowse had had a hard row to hoe. He'd admit that. But there'd been plenty of men plowin' harder ground who'd turned up nothin' but rock and still managed to plant seeds that had grown into some kind of good. Rowse had thrown nothin' but venom and hate into that row and them there weeds had grown up high enough to choke not only him, but any man who had the misfortune to stumble into them.

That man bein' Little Joe Cartwright at the moment.

As he opened his mouth to respond, Hop Sing said, "Bad man not let Little Joe go no matter what."

Roy pursed his lips. "That's right, Hop Sing."

The China man thought hard for a moment. "Then you and Hop Sing must go after Little Joe!"

"Now, you wait here a minute, Hop Sing," the lawman said, holding up a hand. "I'm goin' but ain't nothin' you can say will make me take you with me."

"Hop Sing no stay home!" the other man declared with a stubborn shake of his head. "Come after sheriff Roy if no take! Hop Sing responsible for number three son. Hop Sing go!"

He could have quoted him all kinds of things about a lawman's responsibility and him bein' too close to the boy to be of any help, but Roy figured he didn't have to. All he had to do was ask one question.

"What about Miss Carnaby?"

Hop Sing looked like he'd done been struck in the face by a fish.

Roy laid a hand on his shoulder. "The best thing you can do, Hop Sing, is make sure you keep that little girl out of trouble. She's got too much of Little Joe in her and I'll be danged if she won't find some way to get into it quicker than you can say jumpin' Jack Robinson. Now, why don't you go upstairs and make sure she's all right and then, if you've a mind to, I'd be awful happy if you could rustle up a little grub for me to take along on the trail."

"What if bad men see you?" The China man's black eyes flicked to the note he still held. "What if they hurt Little Joe _because_ they see you?"

"I done more stake-outs than you've baked pies, Hop Sing. Those outlaws ain't gonna see me. I need to find out how many there are for sure and see where they got Little Joe, and then I'll ride back to town for help. Like I said, you just keep that little girl out of trouble, you hear?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Elizabeth was astride the horse Little Joe had given her and riding as fast as she could through the snow, following the stranger she'd seen in the Cartwright's yard. She'd climbed out the window and had just finished harnessing her pony when she saw a bundled up man with a bow in his hand. He let loose an arrow aimed at the front door and then, without waitin' to see if it hit, disappeared into the trees.

A minute later she heard a horse's hooves pounding the hard ground.

She'd been trackin' before. Her pa had taken her out into the woods to teach her even though her ma said it wasn't proper and she swore – even though Ma never really swore 'cause she said God was always listenin' and He'd tan her hide if she did – well, Ma swore Pa'd be teachin' her to wear britches and suspenders next!

Pa said a girl needed to know how to track. 'Ma', he'd said, 'suppose Bella's here alone and Jack goes wanderin' off. She'll need to be able to find him fast before somethin' nasty like a bear or mountain cat does. Or suppose she's all growed up and she's got livestock that's wandered off?' In the end Pa won, like he usually did, and he'd started takin' her out with him day and night to teach her how to look for sign. He taught her how to tell how old the sign was and what had made it and so on. Lots of it was yucky and by the time they was done, she was just about sure she didn't ever want to track nothin' bigger than a bunny rabbit. And now here she was! Little Joe was missin' and she knew how to follow the man on the horse even though there was snow on the ground.

Pa would be right proud of her when she told him!

She knew, of course, that keepin' out of sight was more important with a bad man than a bunny rabbit, so she was traveling just inside of the trees and not on the road. While she might end up with no supper if a bunny got wind of her, she _was_ gonna end up in a whole heap of trouble if whoever took Joe did. That Fleet Rowse feller sounded awful mean. She wasn't so sure about the reverend. He'd seemed harmless as a tick on a stone. She hadn't liked that other man – the one names Runyon. She'd spent most of the stage coach ride with him. He'd patted her head and talked nice to her and even offered her candy, which she refused. He was like a snake and she supposed that just by touchin' it, he'd probably poisoned the candy and she didn't want any of it _or_ him. It was funny. Him and the reverend had introduced themselves and acted like they were strangers but, now that she thought of it, they kept lookin' at each other like they were talkin' with their eyes the whole time.

She should've known somethin' was up!

Elizabeth swallowed hard as she tightened her grip on the reins. Hop Sing and Sheriff Roy were gonna be mighty mad when they figured out what she was doin'. She would have gone to them, but she knew neither one of them would have let her join in the search for little brother. They'd of said she was 'too little'. The blonde girl scowled. She didn't know about Sheriff Roy, but she was pretty sure Hop Sing had never got Little Joe out of a burning building and into the water where he was safe like she had! Ma always said it takes a heap of licks to hit a nail in the dark.

She had experience saving Joe Cartwright and that had to count over size and strength!

The sun was just crestin' over the top of the mountains, casting long orange-red fingers across the snow. The man was riding hard and fast and doing nothin' to cover his tracks, so it she was pretty sure he either didn't know he was being followed or didn't care. Even if he did, she had one advantage no one else would. If there'd been a ransom note tied on that arrow the outlaw shot, then he'd probably told Mister Cartwright in it that no one was to follow him. Of course, the bad man would be lookin' for grown-ups – men, most like. He probably wouldn't think much of it if he looked back and saw a little girl comin' up on his tail. He might even ignore her. After all, the bad man probably thought the same thing as Sheriff Roy and Hop Sing. First off, she was a girl, and second, she was 'too little' to do anything about anything.

With a snort, Elizabeth Carnaby pressed her heels into her pony's sides.

Right.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe didn't think he'd ever been so cold in his life. His captors had taken refuge in one of their deserted line shack and had even lit a fire, but it seemed the warmth just couldn't make its way to his bones. One of the men had pressed a wad of filthy cloth against his wound and bound it to his chest, and another tossed a moth-ridden blanket his way, which he was wearing now over his nightshirt and long johns. The place where Rowse's knife had penetrated his shoulder throbbed. The pain thrummed through his body and pounded in his head as well, beating in tune with his heart. Slowly Joe uncurled the fingers of his left hand, noting the ugly cut near the top of one finger and the congealed blood that ran from the jagged wound onto his palm. Rowse had split it with his knife and made him use the blood to pen the last line on the ransom note to his father.

Like a baby, he had cried while he wrote it.

The outlaw took hold of him by his bad shoulder afterwards and threw him against a low-lying cot in the corner and told him to stay there. As he crawled up onto it, Rowse had painted his face like a warrior on the red path and headed out the door. It seemed the man was caught between two worlds, bein' a part of both, but not belonging to either one. Joe wondered if it was because neither the Indians nor the settlers would accept him, or if it was because Rowse wouldn't accept either one of them.

From what Aurora said, he kind of figured it was the last one.

It was hard to think of someone as pretty and nice as Aurora Guthrie being related to Fleet Rowse. They were just so _different._ He and his brothers were alike in so many ways – in the things Pa had taught them about being good Christian men such as love, sacrifice, service to others and all. They fought over just about everything else, but when it came to the important things they were, like Adam said, 'on the same page'. On top of being one of the prettiest women he had ever seen, Aurora was so gentle and sweet. She'd taken good care of Elizabeth and he hoped she was still doing so now that he was gone.

Joe wondered if his pa even knew he was missing. If he and Hoss and Adam had made it to the place where the cattle were waiting, they'd be on their way north and there'd be no one at the house to get that ransom note. No one but Hop Sing, Aurora, or Elizabeth. He knew his 'big sister' well enough to know that it was gonna take a lot to keep her in that house once she knew. Bella was just about as headstrong as he was, and she sure thought she could take care of herself come Hell or high water. He knew what she'd be thinkin', that he was _her_ responsibility. He'd played along with her treatin' him like her 'little brother' 'cause it was cute.

Another mistake.

Joe's weary gaze flicked to the shack door. Unfortunately, Fleet Rowse was Hell, high water, a cyclone, drought, and a few other things all rolled into one. Leaning his head against the wall, Joe closed his eyes and his lips parted. Whispered words came from between them.

"God, you keep that little mischief safe and where she needs to be. Don't you go lettin' her get it in her head that she's gotta save me. You make her mind Hop Sing and keep her nose out of trouble and – "

Joe paused, suddenly struck by all the times his pa has spent askin' God the same thing about him. He snorted and shook his head. At that moment bustin' the orneriest bronco looked like a walk in the park compared to bein' a pa. He'd have to let his father know that.

If he lived to see him again.

Joe shifted and moaned. He heard a movement in response and opened his eyes to find Atticus Godfrey coming toward him. The former reverend was carrying a bowl of water and some clean bandages. He sat the bowl on a bedside table and then sat in the chair next to the low frame and reached out to check the linens covering his wound.

"The cloth beneath is soaked through," he said. "It needs to be changed."

"What do you care?" Joe shot back. "You're just gonna kill me anyway!"

The tall thin man flinched. "So Noyes says," he replied as his long fingers reached out and pulled at the linen strap binding the wad of bloody cloth to his wound. He frowned as he pulled at the wad. It was stuck to his skin. "This is going to hurt."

Joe gritted his teeth and nodded.

Atticus sprinkled the area with water first. Then, grasping his good shoulder in his right hand, he pulled quickly, tearing the bandage away from the wounded one. Joe's stomach rocked and tears entered his eyes.

He denied them.

As the thin man began to prepare the cloth to replace what he had removed, Joe examined him. Atticus Godfrey had a tired face. Not a mean one like Runyon, or crazy like Noyes, just tired. He was really thin, almost to the point of lookin' sick. There were shadows under his eyes and they had a funny faraway look. As he paid more attention, Joe noticed that the man's hands shook as he worked. Either he was sick or he was uncomfortable with what he was doing.

Which might give him an edge.

"So how'd you end up working for a maniac like Fleet Rowse?" he asked.

Atticus' pale eyes shot to his face. Then he turned and looked at Runyon who was leaning back in a chair, snoring. As he tucked the wad of cloth into place, he said, his voice pitched low. "I didn't lie about my brother knowing your father. He did. He and your father kept up a correspondence for a time, so I knew how wealthy Ben Cartwright was. My...associate and I make a habit of removing some of a great man's money from his pockets so the temptation to sin won't be as great." Atticus met his dumbfounded stare. "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God, after all."

Joe was scowling. "Are you a real reverend?"

Atticus sighed. "I was. Until my...weekday activities were found out."

"You mean you being a thief?"

"Young man, I am not..." The thin man paused. "Yes, me being a thief."

"But you're not a murderer," he stated plainly.

The former parson sucked in a breath and let it out slowly through his nose. "No."

"So are you just gonna stand by and let Rowse kill me when my usefulness is done?" Joe demanded. "That'd make you an _accomplice_ to murder at the very least."

The thin man leaned back in the chair and stared at him. A second later he ran a lean hand over his face and sighed. "Runyon hired Rowse. He'd heard he was a good man to have in a tight saturation. My connection with your father got us in, but we needed a hired gun, so to speak, to be sure we got out. Of course, it didn't hurt that Rowse had worked the Ponderosa once upon a time."

"But you got more than you bargained for with Fleet Rowse."

He nodded. "Rowse is...unstable. I fear he finds more pleasure in a deal gone wrong then one well done. He'd..." Atticus paused. "He'd rather kill you than have the money."

Joe had guessed as much. It was all a game with Rowse. Take him, have him write the note to his pa, get the money, and then leave his corpse for his family to find. Every inch of it was meant to cause pain. Pain from which _Rowse_ drew pleasure.

"So you just gonna let him kill me?" he asked again. Adding, "I know Noyes agrees, but do _you?"_

The reverend opened his lips, but it was Noyes Runyon who spoke. "What are you doing over there, Atticus? What's taking so long?"

"I'm putting a fresh binding on the boy's wound," he replied. Standing, he added, "It won't do us any good if he dies before his father sees him."

"I suppose..." the fat businessman said as he rose and headed for the stove where a pot of coffee sat.

"Noyes, the price of murder is hanging," Atticus said quietly. "Robbing someone, that's another matter. If we leave the boy high up in the hills or in an abandoned mine shaft, we can get away before anyone finds him. We can send word back..."

Runyon chewed on some stale bread as well as Atticus' words. He swallowed. "Too dangerous."

"We've done it before. What's different now?"

"He's a Cartwright for one. They never give up. And in the second place..." The fat man's eyes went to the door. "There's Rowse to contend with. If he doesn't get to have his _fun_ with this one, it will be us!"

"If you let me go my Pa won't hunt you down, I promise," Joe insisted.

"If we let you go your pa won't _need_ to hunt us down, Rowse will kill us," the businessman snorted. The man's piggy eyes went to the reverend. "Besides, Atticus, it will be _Rowse_ who does the killing. Our hands will be clean. They'll find the boy's body and we can tell them that it was Rowse who did it over our protests. After all, his reputation speaks for itself." The fat man paused and then concluded, "Aren't you finished yet?"

"Just so," Atticus said as he pulled the linen strip that bound Joe's chest taut. Leaning over him, he reached for the thin blanket to draw it up.

Joe caught his arm above the elbow. "Help me," he whispered.

"I'll hear your confession later, son," the thin man said as he straightened up. "You need to be absolved of your sins and be at peace before the end."

Atticus' eyes were fastened on his.

"God _will_ find a way."

As Joe watched the near-skeletal man walk away, he felt the first flicker of hope since he had been kidnapped.

Maybe he _would_ live to see another day.


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

"Now calm down, Hop Sing, I cain't understand a word you're sayin'!"

Roy took the Cartwright's cook by the arm and directed him toward the settee. Hop Sing's face was red as the coals in the fire.

Gol-darn it if that China man wasn't the most excitable thing he'd seen this side of Joe Cartwright!

"No have time make nice-nice." Hop Sing said, jabbing a finger at him. "Hop Sing tell sheriff we have _trouble._ Mighty _big_ trouble! Missy Elizabeth missing too!"

It still hadn't registered. "What do you mean the girl's missin'?"

"What else 'missing' mean?" The China man looked like him like there was nothin' between his ears but rocks. "Missy Elizabeth's coat, hat, scarf, boots – all gone! She gone! She go look for Little Joe!"

Roy's eyes strayed to the staircase and the landing above. "Why, that little imp! She must of overheard what we were sayin' last night." He shook his head. "How long you figure she's been gone?"

Hop Sing looked at the clock by the door. "Take Missy Elizabeth tea for tummy at 7:30 this morning. Now, 10:30! No way know if she be gone three minutes or three _hours!_ Hop Sing need go after her!"

"Now hold your horses, Hop Sing," the lawman said, raising his hands. " _You_ ain't goin' nowhere."

"Sheriff go off lonesome, fight off three bad men _and_ look for Little Joe and Missy Elizabeth all at one time?"

It did seem like kind of a big order.

"Now, I can't just have a civilian go chargin' off after bad men, Hop Sing, you know that. It just wouldn't be right." He shook his graying head. "I've got the citizens of Virginia City to answer to, not to mention Ben Cartwright – "

"Mistah Ben want Hop Sing go look for Little Joe. No one else here. Note come, we not answer, Little Joe get hurt." The Chinese man's dark eyes pleaded with him. "Sheriff make Hop Sing deputy! Hurry. Chop chop!"

Roy hesitated. He knew he should go back to town and get Luke, or one of his other men. But the time it would take him to get there would make it near impossible for him to rescue Little Joe. There was no way he could make it to Virginia City, recruit men, and make it to the Paiute graveyard in time. 'Specially not in this weather. Still... The lawman cast a glance at the agitated man before him. He knew from what Ben had told him that Hop Sing was a good man to have on your side. He was just concerned his worry over Little Joe and the girl would make him reckless.

"You gonna swear to me that you'll follow my orders and not go off half-cocked?"

The China man nodded. "Hop Sing obey Sheriff Roy. Not think on own."

"Well, now, that ain't exactly what I'm sayin'." Roy half-chuckled as he ran a hand across his stubbled chin. "That Rowse feller is one _mean_ hombre. We're gonna hafta play it close."

The Cartwright's cook nodded. "The less power man has, the more man likes to use it."

Now that was right smart.

"You got it. From what I can tell this here Rowse won't hesitate to kill Little Joe if he feels threatened. So we gotta make sure he don't! We'll have to ride right careful. We'll follow those tracks on horseback for a while, but sooner or later we're gonna hafta walk through the snow. You ready for that?"

"Just because men not like cold, Heaven not stop winter," he answered with a shrug.

That one made him laugh. Roy eyed his unlikely deputy and asked, "Tell me. You got a little book up there in that brain of yours with all them sayin's written in it?"

"Hop Sing no need book. Hop Sing learn at honorable grandfather's knee. Honorable grandfather _very_ wise." The little China man finished with a grin – a sorta tight one that didn't quite reach his eyes. Now Roy'd heard that kind of grin called 'inscrutable'.

It didn't exactly put him at ease.

Still, he had little choice. He had two youngsters out in the cold and at the mercy of a trio of bad men and no time to find anyone else to help in the search.

"All right. You get your gear together and meet me here in a half hour. I'm gonna see if I can find any of those hands Ben left to watch the place close by. You and me can use all the help we can get."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hop Sing shook his head as he watched Roy Coffee head out the door and into the night. "Waste time," he muttered as he headed to the kitchen to pack food and drink for the two of them. "Distant water not help put out fire at hand." When he reached his domain he began to bustle about it, gathering bread, jam, meat and other food that would serve them on the hunt as well as coffee and tea. As he reached into the cupboard where he kept the tea, the Chinese man stopped. He looked from it to the big block table in the middle of the room and suddenly saw a little boy with curly brown hair sitting there, his booted feet marking a staccato beat against the already abused wood.

' _Little Joe no kick Hop Sing's table!'_

 _The boy scowled at him, looking out from under a fringe of golden-brown curls. 'It ain't your table. It's Pa's and I can kick it if I want.'_

 _Little Joe had been five and his mother dead for no more than a few months. The boy was sad, but even more, he was angry._

' _Little Joe right. Table belong to Mistah Ben, but also belong to Hop Sing.'_

 _The boy scrunched up his nose. 'Huh?'_

' _Mistah Ben own table, but Hop Sing use it. Belong to Hop Sing too.'_

 _Little Joe seemed to think that over. 'You mean two people can own one thing?'_

 _He'd been busy getting tea out of the cupboard and had turned away. As he reached for a can on a high shelf he nodded. "Yes. One thing belong to two. Both love.'_

' _Like I belonged to pa and ma?' the little voice asked, suddenly more sad than mad._

 _His back was to the boy. Hop Sing blinked away a tear before he turned to look at him. 'Little Joe's ma and pa both love him much. He belong to both.'_

' _So now that my ma's...gone...who's gonna love me her half?' The boy was thinking it through. 'Or am I gonna be only half-loved from now on?'_

' _You have Mistahs Adam and Hoss. Boy much loved.'_

' _But Ma's part is missin'.' Little Joe turned a grief and tear-stricken face on him. He sniffed. 'I ain't ever gonna be whole again, am I?'_

 _The Chinese man put the container of tea down and walked over to the child. Gently, he placed a hand on the sorrowful boy's cheek. 'Little Joe have Hop Sing. Not ma, but will do all he can to fill hole left in boy's heart."_

 _Those beautiful long black lashes blinked. Tears glistened on them like sunlit ice on a wrought-iron post. 'You want to be my mama?' Little Joe asked, puzzled._

" _Cannot be mama. Can be friend. Hop Sing here for you when no one else around. Here, any time you need him. Care for you. Protect you." He held those wide soulful green eyes. 'Little Joe understand?'_

 _Joe wiped the moisture from his nose with his sleeve. 'Pa says a man with friends has a great treasure.'_

 _The Chinese man gathered the small boy into his arms and held him close. 'As honorable grandfather say,' he told the lost little boy, 'a good friend is nearest relation.'_

Hop Sing stood there, looking at the block table that still bore the scars left by the heels of that little boy's boots. Walking with deliberation, he went to the table and reached for one of the butcher knives he had anchored in its worn surface and placed it in the kit along with the food.

If bad men hurt _Little Joe._

Hop Sing _hurt_ bad men.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Elizabeth was frightened. She'd followed the man with the bow for about two hours when it began to snow again. It wasn't that the snow was bad or thick or anything, but it made it hard to see and she'd accidentally taken her pony farther into the woods than she meant to and gotten turned around. Overhead the sky was as white as the snow beneath her feet and she couldn't see the sun or tell where it was, and so she had no idea what time it was or where _she_ was, and so she was...

Well, there was nothin' for it.

She was cryin'.

The blonde girl remembered asking Mister Adam one time if big brothers cried and he said 'all the time', but she didn't think he meant they did it when they were afraid. He'd been smilin' and lookin' at Little Joe at the time. She kind of understood, because there were an awful lot of times that Jack made her want to cry, and scream, and well, pick up a switch and put it to his backside. For a second she wondered what Little Joe had looked like when he was Jack's age. Did he have that curly hair and was it brown? He sure must of been a cute little boy with those big green eyes and that smile. With a sigh, Elizabeth's thoughts turned back to the wide and wild world around her. _She_ wasn't smiling. She was shivering and scared and, though she hated to admit it –

She was lost.

As she stood there, turning in every direction and not knowing what to do, her pony, Freckles, came up and nudged her cheek. He was a gray with black spots sprinkled all over his nose. Little Joe said he had named him 'Freckles' since he thought it was better than 'Measles' when it came to a horse havin' spots. Freckles was hers for as long as she stayed with the Cartwrights. When he nudged her like he was doing now, it reminded her of their cat back home. His name was Southpaw 'cause his left front foot had a brown sock on it. Otherwise he was all black. When Southpaw was unsure about somethin', he'd come and sit on her shoulder and rub his whiskers against her cheek just like Freckles was doin' now, so the pony must be unsure too.

Maybe he needed _her_ to be strong for him.

"It'll be all right, boy," Elizabeth said as she patted his warm nose. "Someone will come along or we'll find our way. You'll see."

The pony fixed her with his big dark eyes. He whinnied and then nudged her again as if trying to tell her somethin'. A second later Freckles lowered his long head as he lifted his foreleg and then struck the ground with it.

It took her a minute of puzzlin', but she figured it out. Pa always told her animals knew better than people when it came to important things. They had 'insight,' he said, 'something God gave them.' He told her God gave it to people too, but they ignored it most of the time 'cause they thought they knew better.

Freckles was remindin' her to pray.

Elizabeth stared at the snowy ground and thought about how cold it was. Pa'd taught her it was best to kneel when you prayed. She'd asked him 'why' one time since it seemed that standin' up put you closer to Heaven. Pa told her that God liked a 'humble' and a 'contrite' heart and that by kneeling, you were showin' God you knew who was boss. 'Sides, he'd told her with a smile, when you were on your knees you couldn't run away. You had to stay put and wait for God to answer.

With a big sigh, the little girl cleared a small piece of ground and then knelt. She was wearing thick leggings so it wasn't too bad, even though they were wool and they were gonna itch like the dickens when they got wet. Clasping her gloved hands together, Elizabeth closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest.

"God," she said after a second, "I really need your help to find little brother. Those bad men are gonna hurt Little Joe and I gotta stop them! I thought I could find him by myself, but I just got lost. Freckles and me, well, we can't do it alone like I thought. Please, you gotta send someone to help us and send them _soon."_ Her eyes popped open for a second as a fresh snowflake settled on her nose, quickly followed by another. It sure was pretty, but she knew well enough that where there was one or two snowflakes, there was gonna be a million. "It's awful cold, God. Please keep Little Joe safe and warm and us too and, well, as far as those bad men..." Elizabeth drew in a breath of the cold crisp air and exhaled slowly. "Well, you can just dump them in a lake and let them freeze! Amen."

The little girl frowned as she stood and dusted the snow off her knees. Her ma said the Good Book told them to love their enemies and do good to those who _prosecuted_ them, so she probably shouldn't be asking God to hurt the men who took her little brother. But then again, King David did an awful lot of praying about smiting bad men, so it must be okay since David was one of God's favorites. In Psalm seventeen he asked God to arise and bring them low and to deliver his soul from the wicked with a _sword_.

That sure was a lot worse than wishin' someone would turn into an icicle!

Crossing over to Freckles, Elizabeth took the reins in her hand and climbed onto the pony's back. She had no idea where to go, but she knew that sittin' still wasn't smart. She needed to find some place where she could get in out of the cold. Before taking off, she kneed the gray over to a tall standing bush. Tearing a strip off of one of the fine petticoats Mister Ben had bought her, she tied it to a wither-high branch. Pa'd taught her how to leave a trail so someone could find her if she ever got 'misplaced' as he put it.

Elizabeth sat straight in the saddle and sucked in tears as her lower lip trembled.

She _sure_ wished Pa was here.

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Joe leaned against the wall of the line shack with his eyes closed, pretending to sleep. Well, maybe, he was actually pretending to be _awake_. It seemed the sleepin' part was easier to manage at the moment. His wounded shoulder was on fire, but the rest of him was cold as the snow piling up on the shack's window sill. He still had the old ratty blanket wrapped around him, but the thin rag of a thing wasn't doing much good.

It _sure_ was a sorry excuse for a blanket.

Still, Joe thought as he adjusted and pulled the covering close up around his neck, the blanket wouldn'thave done him any good even if it had been thick as Hoss' _waist_. Most of his shivering and shaking had nothing to do with the weather. He'd been at this point often enough with an injury to recognize the signs of a mounting fever. Since Fleet Rowse had cut him the night before no one had bothered to do anything much about his wound. Oh, Atticus Godfrey rinsed it with water and put a fresh wad of cloth against the cut now and then, but that was it. It hadn't been cleaned properly in over half a day. Coupled with the cold and the 'state – as Pa would put it – that he was in, well...

He was sure up the creek without a paddle.

Through his lidded eyes, Joe watched the former reverend interact with his partner. If they hadn't been threatenin' to kill him, he'd of thought they were kind of comical. Atticus Godfrey was tall as a pine and a skinny sick one at that, while his partner was fat as a hog fit for the table. The preacher was all nervous energy and jumped at the slightest noise. Noyes Runyon, well, you could of shot a cannon off next to his head and he wouldn't have budged. Atticus was right nervous. He would clear his throat first and then make a statement or ask a question. Noyes would bark an answer – usually having nothing to do with the subject _or_ the question – and the skinny parson would shake from head to toe and back away. It was kind of like watchin' a pack of wild dogs workin' through their pecking order. Noyes Runyon was the lead dog and Atticus Godfrey was following behind with his tail between his long stick legs, waiting for whatever scrap the fat man threw him.

Atticus was the weak link here and he had to find a way to use that.

The tall thin man picked up a pitcher of water and poured some into a glass. Joe licked his cracked lips as he did, wonderin' if he could stand to watch the other man drink it. Then, to his surprise, the reverend headed his way. Atticus took a seat in the chair next to the lame excuse for a bed the shack had and said, "If you lean forward, I'll give you some."

Joe knew better than to let the outlaws think he had _any_ strength left. "Don't think I can do that, Reverend," he mumbled. He hoped that, by using the former minister's title, he might bring back something of what the man must once have been. "I just ain't got any muscle."

Atticus leaned forward to touch his forehead. He sucked in air as his hand made contact. "Dear Lord!" he said softly. "You have quite a fever!"

Sheesh...just go and tell a feller how _bad_ off he is, why don't ya?!

He'd had fevers before and they'd never stopped him from doing needed done.

Well, _hardly_ ever.

While Atticus was still leaning in, Joe whispered, his words fierce as the fire trying to claim him, "Reverend, you gotta get me out of here. Rowse and Runyon are gonna kill me, and you'll be just as guilty as they are when they do!"

Atticus held the glass to his lips. As Joe took a sip and the tepid water slid down his throat like an avalanche of snow, the thin man said, "There's nothing _I_ can do. Noyes always gets what he wants and Rowse..."

He said no more.

"Has Noyes ever wanted you to kill a man before?" Joe shot back.

The reverend shook his head.

Of course not. Adam always said he had the _Devil's_ own luck.

Which meant it was bad.

"Look, Reverend, you're a man of _God_ ," he continued. "You know – even _if_ they don't hang you – that, in the end, you gotta face God alone and pay for what you've done."

Atticus was checking his wound now. His pale eyes shot up to lock with Joe's green ones. "There is one sin and _one_ sin only that God will not forgive, Mister Cartwright, and that is blaspheming the Spirit. God has abandoned me because I first abandoned him."

"What're you two nattering about over there?" The short abrupt question came from Noyes Runyon who, having finished his breakfast, was looking their way with suspicion. "Atticus, get back over here! Rowse is due any minute and we need to begin to gather our things. Fleet said we'd leave as soon as he returned. We'll have to make good time if we want to be at be in place at the graveyard before Ben Cartwright shows up."

Joe locked eyes with the tall thin man. "Reverend, _you_ know better," he said quickly, "there ain't no sin God won't forgive. You just have to ask."

Atticus Godfrey blinked and then straightened up. When the preacher turned toward his companion it seemed – or maybe he just imagined it – that he stood a little bit taller.

"The boy has a fever," he answered. "I was just discussing his condition with him. For a man who is so sure of what he is doing, Noyes, you seem rather jumpy."

"Fever, _schmee-ver_ ," the fat man chortled. "The lad's going to be dead in less than twenty-four hours. I don't know why you bother to tend him."

"He has to live long enough to go with us to the graveyard, doesn't he?" the thin man replied, his tone even. "Or are you planning on killing him and leaving his body here for his father to find _before_ he reaches Paiute land with the money?"

Noyes Runyon was not a happy man. He was barking and the _preacher_ was biting back.

"You will not talk to me like that!" Runyon snapped.

"Like what?" Atticus countered sharply. "Like I might have a thought of my own?"

It took a second – maybe two. Runyon moved so fast Joe missed it. The fat man had the reverend by the collar and was pressing the barrel of his tiny gun against the man's protruding Adam's apple.

"You'll live longer, Atticus, if you _don't!"_ Noyes hissed. "This is the _big_ one, you fool! This can be our last job. You mess it up and I'll –"

"Kill me? Like you intend to kill this boy?"

"Why would I want to put _you_ out of your misery, you sniveling coward?" Runyon asked with a sneer. "No. I'll just take you to the closest sheriff and tell him who you are, and then help him look up the wanted poster that bears your tepid face! There won't be a rope at the end, but there _will_ be a decade or more in prison. Is that what you want – reverend?"

The preacher's shoulders sagged. "No," he said quietly.

Noyes Runyon released his grip on the Godfrey's collar. Then he made a pretense of dusting the thin man's shoulders off. "That's right, Atticus. You just do as your told and when this is over, you will have enough money to retreat to one of those ruinous castles in Scotland you're always going on about, where no United States lawman or anyone else can touch you." The fat man's gaze shifted to him and Joe moved involuntarily back. "If the cost of that is the life of one boy that you didn't know existed a month ago, is that too much to ask?"

The preacher's shoulders rose and fell. Joe saw him turn and look his way, and then close his eyes.

The next word he spoke pronounced his doom.

"No."

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Adam Cartwright rose to his feet from where he had been sitting by his campfire and looked up. A fall of fragile half-formed snowflakes took the opportunity to land on his nose and make it tickle. Sniffing, he batted them away and then gazed down the long road toward home. It should have been a relatively short one, of course, and would have been without the snow and now sleet and the rising wind driving both. Adam's full lips quirked at both ends. Of course, he really had nothing to complain about. He'd make it home by dark and then he would be forced – yes, _forced_ – to eat Hop Sing's supper and spend the evening in Pa's chair by the roaring fire with his feet up, reading a book.

Why, he might even feel _compelled_ to open one of the decanters and take a stiff drink – just to brace himself for the return journey, of course.

"Ah, the drawbacks of being a rancher," he said to no one in particular.

He'd taken a moment to stop and let Sport rest. Plowing through the snow was hard work for the animal. The worst thing were the drifts. Depending on the bend in the road, the white stuff could be piled up several feet high. They'd just gone through a rough patch and, on the other side of the snow drift, he'd wanted nothing as much in the world as a hot cup of coffee.

Not even _seeing_ that world.

Reaching down, Adam lifted the remains of the delectable concoction and passed the cup that contained it under his nose.

"Ambrosia," he breathed, and then finished it.

After tossing the grounds into the snow, the black-haired man watched them sizzle their way down toward the frozen earth before picking up his pack. Then he returned the tin mug to it. Crossing over to where Sport was waiting, he removed the warm woolen blanket covering him and tied the pack to the rear Dee of his saddle. Rolling the blanket up, he secured it on the back jockey. After taking his seat, Adam pulled his coat close about his throat and his hat down over his eyes before kneeing his horse into action. As they began to move, his smile returned and he chuckled. If there was one thing he was looking forward to even _more_ than Hop Sing's supper or that glass of brandy, it was the look of surprise on his little brother's face when he opened the door and stepped inside.

Adam laughed. Hopefully he'd catch the little scamp up to no good.

There was _nothing_ warmed a person up like a good fight.

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Roy Coffee stamped his feet and blew vapor out of his nose. If his temper had been enough to keep him warm, he wouldn't have needed the heavy winter coat, thick wool scarf, and gloves that was hamperin' his movements! 'Course, if his _movements_ hadn't been hampered, Ben Cartwright might just be puttin' an ad in the Territorial Enterprise right now for a new cook.

That little China man was gonna drive him plumb out of his mind!

Here they was, in the middle of huntin' Little Joe – who just might be in the hands of a ruthless killer – and Hop Sing was spreadin' a blanket out on the snow and layin' out sandwiches, insistin' they needed their strength if they was gonna be of any help to Elizabeth _or_ Little Joe when they found them. Now, he didn't argue with that, but a quick cup of coffee and a strip of jerky on horseback had always done for him.

Irritated as he was, he'd managed to hide a smile when Ben's cook apologized for not bringin' any china plates.

He didn't, however, forget the china cups.

"Sheriff Roy come sit down!," the China man called. " _Chop. Chop._ Need hurry."

Wasn't that what _he_ had justbeen sayin'?

Hop Sing turned from what he was doin' and focused on him when he didn't move. He planted his fists on his hips and declared, "A fool in hurry drinks tea with fork! Sheriff Roy waste time. Come! Eat!"

 _He_ was wasting time?

"Now, you listen here, Hop Sing, _I_ ain't wastin' time! It's _you_ are wastin' it. We could be on the road right now – "

Hop Sing scowled. "Sheriff Roy no more _yak-yak,_ beon road five minutes ago _and_ have food in stomach!"

Roy twisted his lips and chewed the inside of his cheek.

The China man had a point.

Crossing over to where the thick blanket was spread out, Roy took a seat and reached for a sandwich.

Hop Sing batted his hand away. "Sheriff no serve. Hop Sing's job!"

"Now, lookee here, Hop Sing," he growled, "I ain't Ben Cartwright and I don't need no _man's man_ doin' for me what I been doin' for myself for nigh-on fifty year! If you let me do it, it'll be done. Ain't no other way we're gonna find that little girl _and_ keep Little Joe alive..."

Roy closed his mouth. There was somethin' in the China man's eyes that stopped him in his tracks. He wasn't sure exactly what it was. The silence hung between them until Hop Sing lifted a sandwich from the blanket, placed it on a cloth napkin, and handed it to him along with a china cup full of steaming coffee.

They ate in silence.

Ten minutes later, his belly full and his aging bones warmed by the progress of the hot liquid down his gullet, Roy pursed his lips and shook his head. With a sigh, he admitted, "You was right, Hop Sing. I feel mighty good right now."

The China man looked at him. His lips were tight, but there was a smile in his black eyes. "Sheriff Roy apologize Hop Sing?"

Roy finished his coffee and tossed the grounds into the snow. "Sheriff Roy apologize," he replied as he stood.

"Hop Sing clean up. Go save Little Joe."

The cook's voice trembled on the boy's name.

"You two are right close, ain't ya?" Roy asked, his voice hushed. "I mean, I know you're close with all the Cartwrights, but there's somethin' _special_ with Little Joe, ain't there?"

Hop Sing had returned the food to the pack he carried and was cleaning out the inside of the coffee pot with snow and a rag. He stopped what he was doin' and looked his way.

" _Little Joe_ special." The China man put the lid on the pot and put it in the pack as well, shifting aside something in order to make it fit. "Little Joe like Pulao."

"Poo-lauw-oh? What's that?"

"Fourth of dragon's sons," Hop Sing answered as he turned back, a slight smile touching his lips. "Pulao small but strong. Have roar mighty enough to shake the heavens and earth. Sometimes roar turn to tears."

The lawman snorted. That sure enough described Ben's third boy.

"Many years ago Hop Sing tell Mistah Cartwright's number three son tales of Dragon's _nine_ sons. Tell Little Joe he like Pulao. Tell him," he paused, "that when mighty roar turn to tears he come see Hop Sing."

Roy hadn't really thought about it much. Joe, being the youngest and having so many years between him and his brothers, would have spent an awful lot of his childhood in that big house without Ben and the boys. He would have been alone with the China man while his Pa and Adam saw to the ranch and Hoss was out learning a man's skills. The boy'd been no more than five years old when his mama died. The lawman looked at Hop Sing, who had moved to his horse and was climbing into the saddle, and shook his head. _Now_ he knew what that look was for – the one the China man had given him when he said they needed to move ' _If we're gonna keep Little Joe alive_.'

It was that word ' _we_ '.

Ben's cook didn't like it. Maybe he didn't even hear it. Now that his duty was done and their meal was over, Hop Sing was lookin' to take off after Elizabeth right enough, but it was Ben's missin' son that was uppermost in his mind. They'd had an understandin', the two of them, since they'd left Ben's house. _He_ was a lawman and his first duty was to bring in Fleet Rowse, even if that meant leavin' searchin' for the girl and Joe 'til after it was done. Roy scratched his chin and eye-balled the man on the horse. Even though he'd made the China man a sort of unofficial deputy, he'd told him not to bring any weapon. If it came to shootin', _he'd_ be the one to do it. He studied Hop Sing's compact taut frame now, every muscle strainin' forward. Then he looked at the pack firmly situated on the back jockey of the man's saddle – the one the China man had been fussin' with earlier.

Danged, if he didn't wonder now just what _else_ was in it!


	10. Chapter 10

TEN

Hoss Cartwright shivered. He tugged at his buttons to make sure his coat was fastened tight and then shifted the fur lined collar up around his ears. They'd worked hard that day searchin' for stray cattle and bringin' them back into the herd in preparation for moving on to the place where the animals would weather the winter. He wasn't sure, but he thought this was one of only a handful of years where they had done the early part of it in the snow. With a glance at the sky he confirmed the current day's mix of sleet and snow had stopped. The sun was almost down and the temperature was droppin'. A crisp clear cold was settin' in with the night.

The big man sighed. Winter was champin' at the bit near as much as his little brother lookin' forward to a night in town.

The thought of Little Joe did two things to the big man – it made him smile _and_ turned his attention to his father. The older man was standing at the edge of the camp lookin' back the way they'd come. The moon was full and Pa was a black silhouette against its bright face. Hoss shook his head and blew out a breath of vapor. There were times when their pa's seemin' inability to think of him and his brothers as all growed-up and able to take care of themselves chaffed like new rope on bare hands. Adam in particular got mighty sore when they'd come in and find him sittin' in front of the fire waitin' on them to show. Somehow – when they three of them was together – that seemed to say to Adam that Pa didn't trust him enough to look after them, which set hard with older brother. Him? He didn't mind so much. Pa was just...well... _Pa_. Little brother was the worst when it came down to resentin' it, though. Joe'd howl and spit like a wild cat when he thought Pa was babyin' him and go on to say that he was a man now and didn't need no one lookin' after him.

'Course, truth was, _Joe_ was the only one who did.

Hoss looked at his pa again standin' there lookin' south, as if by sheer will alone he could see across the miles and find out what was right _or_ wrong at home. Nope, it didn't bother him much. Pa'd had more than his share of tragedy and it seemed like, well, he was always waitin' on the next one to come – waitin' on life to drop the other boot, so to speak. It weren't that Pa didn't trust God. He did more than any other man he knew. But Pa told him once that just 'cause you trust God don't mean everythin' is gonna go your way. Pa believed God sent hardships into men's lives to hone them to be more like His son. He said God promised not to give a man more than he could take.

The big man sighed. If God was thinkin' of lettin' somethin' happen to Little Joe, well, then, he and the man upstairs needed to have a nice _long_ talk about what he could and couldn't _take._ He was strong – Pa'd made him that way.

But he wasn't sure he was _that_ strong.

As he tugged his leather gloves up inside the cuffs of his thick winter coat, Hoss crossed to the lone figure and said, "Pa, supper's about ready. You comin'?"

At first the older man didn't answer. Then he started and blinked, as if drawin' himself back from somewhere far away. Lookin' at him, his father answered, "Hoss. Son, I'm sorry. You said something?"

"I guess your mind ain't on your stomach like mine, Pa," he answered with a grin. "You thinkin' about Adam and Little Joe?"

His father's smile was chagrinned. "Am I so predictable?"

"Well, Pa, I figure you've had about thirty years of practice worryin'. Odds are you're right good at it by now."

His father's smile faded. "You know, if I had chosen to marry and remain in the East and God had granted the three of you to me, I think... No, I _know_ I would not have worried so much." His father turned toward him. "Oh, there are plenty of ways a young man can find trouble in the east, but few of them are life-threatening." The older man's near-black eyes shifted to the road again. "There are just so many dangers that can befall a man here – even a well-trained, cautious man like your older brother. Uncertain roads, ending up adrift in the snow with no hope of rescue, wild animals and," he hesitated, "wilder men." His father approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I hope you boys understand that it is not _you_ I don't trust."

Hoss smiled. "Ah, shucks, Pa, we know that." He waited a moment and then added with a wink, "At least Adam and me do."

"Ah, yes. Your _younger_ brother."

"Little Joe was sure he could lick every mountain cat and outlaw in the territory before he was five." The big man snorted. "And wasn't half wrong. Short-shanks can hold his own pa. You gotta learn to trust him too."

"I do trust Joseph." The older man smiled. "I trust him to find trouble where there is no trouble to be found."

Hoss pursed his lips and nodded. "He's kind of like a magnet, ain't he?"

"Mister Cartwright, Hoss!" a voice called. When they turned they saw the camp cook walking toward them. "Supper's ready!"

His pa raised a hand. "Be right there, Al!"

Hoss looked at the cook and then at him. "Well, as Hop Sing likes to put it, Pa, you cain't stop the birds of worry from flyin' over your head, but you sure-as-shootin' _can_ stop them from buildin' a nest in your hair."

The older man laughed. "How were we ever lucky enough to be blessed with Hop Sing? And the poor man so _unlucky_ as to be cursed with the four of us!"

His crystal-blue eyes danced. "Like you always say, Pa, God moves in mysterious ways."

"His wonders to perform." With a clap on his shoulder, his pa said, "Come on, son, let's go get some grub."

As he followed behind his pa, Hoss was grateful for the smile on the older man's face. Trouble was, it didn't reach his eyes. That's 'cause Pa's eyes weren't lookin' toward the chuck wagon.

They was trained like they always was on home.

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Her Pa would have said it was dark as the inside of whale.

She's asked him once how he knew how dark a whale's innards were and he'd told her he knew because of the three days he'd spent inside one. She'd reminded him, of course, that that was Jonah and he was bein' silly.

'Just ask your mother if I'm bein' silly' had been Pa's reply.

Elizabeth was sitting on Freckles at the side of the road debatin' what to do. She'd managed to find it and by that big old moon that was shinin' in the sky, she'd figured out she was on the west side of it. In one direction lay safety in the form of the Ponderosa ranch house and a warm fire and bed. In the other lay her little brother. Little Joe was out there somewhere, bein' held by bad men, probably cold and lonely as she was right now.

And she was _awful_ cold and lonely.

She'd bundled up well when she left, but her clothes were covered in snow now and wet on account of the fact that she'd done that kneelin' _and_ fallen one or two times before gettin' up to start out again. She knew she needed to dry off and get somethin' in her stomach, and for that she was gonna need a dry place to do it in. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. When Little Joe and her had gone out in the sleigh they'd glided for miles and miles before bein' attacked by the snow in that great big old pine tree. On the way there he'd taken her past a place with a little shack that he said was there for their men to use when they was out workin' the line. They'd traveled beside the road and then struck off into the trees at a place where the rocks were stacked like building blocks with the topmost one hangin' over the path. When she squinted her eyes, she thought she could make out that same set of rocks in the distance. If she could make it to the shack – given the fact that she'd find matches there – she could light the stove and settle in for the night. Her Ma had taught her how to do that safely.

The little girl chewed her lower lip and looked south again. Sheriff Roy and Hop Sing were probably mighty worried about her. They might even be out lookin' for her. If they found her, they sure-as-shootin' would make her go back to the ranch house while they went on to look for Little Joe and the bad men who took him. That meant she had two choices – ride back to meet them or go forward on her own. Maybe if she went to the shack they wouldn't find her.

Maybe they'd just go back home.

A shiver shook her and she almost dropped the reins. Freckles snorted and looked up at her with concern in his big black-brown eyes as they slapped his side. She had to think of him too. Her pa always told her to see to her animal first. Her horse's life depended on her as much as her life depended on him.

Freckles was mighty cold too and it was a long way back to the ranch house.

Coming to a decision, Elizabeth used her knees to direct the gray. Moving him onto the road, she headed for the big pile of rocks and the shack that lay close behind them. As she did, she frowned.

Freckles was awful big.

How was she gonna get him through the door?

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The former reverend Atticus Godfrey grimaced as he watched Fleet Rowse take the Cartwright boy from his horse and toss him to the ground like a sack of flour. The boy 'oomphed' as he struck and then fell silent, making not so much as a sound as the outlaw took him by the collar and dragged him over to the base of a tree where he left him laying on the cold, snowy ground. The young man everyone knew as 'Little Joe' was weakening. In spite of his efforts, the boy's shoulder wound had become infected. Even in the best of circumstances, the outlook for his health would have been uncertain.

And these were hardly the 'best' of circumstances.

As Atticus headed over to check on Little Joe, Rowse growled and spat. A quick reminder of their needs from Noyes silenced the outlaw – for the moment. There was always the chance that Ben Cartwright would demand to see that his son alive before he would surrender the money. Even though the rancher was supposed to leave it and go, there was some doubt he would do so without an assurance that the boy still lived. After all, he was Little Joe's father, he loved him dearly as all father's loved their sons.

Sadly, not as all sons loved their fathers.

The former preacher knelt at the boy's side and placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. Before leaving the line shack he had dressed the young man in a warm flannel shirt, jeans, boots, and a short winter coat with lamb's fur lining he had found there. Probably left behind by some worker. Little Joe was shivering in spite of the extra clothing _and_ the two thin blankets wrapped around his slender frame. The boy was feeling the cold ground beneath him but, even more, he was feeling the heat within. Rocking back on his heels, Atticus considered the young face, so familiar with its boyish good looks and soft tangle of brown curls. He'd been struck by the similarity the first time he saw Joseph Cartwright, in that moment when he stepped off the Virginia City stage.

Jacob had looked much the same.

Rising, the thin man crossed to his horse. Opening his pack, he drew out his spare frock coat. Going back to the boy, he spread it over him. As he did Little Joe's eyes opened and he looked at him without focus. His full lips parted.

"Why...?"

Then he was gone again.

The rail-thin man rose to his feet and returned to the place where he'd spread his bedroll. Noyes and Fleet were seated by the fire and were deep in discussion. They'd left the line shack about midday and traveled onto a portion of land formerly occupied by the Paiutes. Rowse had spent time here as a boy. The Paiute graveyard was just to their north and east. He could see the crossed spears that marked its entrance cast in silhouette against the moonlit sky. Fleet Rowse was a man without conscience or faith. He had no fear of the place. No dread.

No respect.

Laying down, Atticus covered up as best he could. He had no desire to sit by the fire and listen to the other two men scheme and so had told them he was going to nap until they were ready to move. In truth, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. There was something about this whole thing – about taking the Cartwright boy – that deeply disturbed him.

Who would have thought that he – a man of God, leader of the church, father and husband to a wonderful woman – would have ended up in the company of murders?

Of course, there had been no mention of murder when this whole thing began. In fact, in the beginning, his motives for coming out west – while they might have been selfish – were uncontaminated by greed and desire. It was only after he met Noyes Runyon and joined him in his illegitimate 'business' that things had begun to spiral out of control.

He'd started life in Ohio, born to a hard-working mother and father; one of ten children, only six of which reached maturity. He was the second oldest son and as such was not expected to take over the family farm. Instead, his mother insisted he have an education. Atticus turned over with a sigh. All of his life he had been drawn to the things of God, astounded by His works and world, and grateful for the blessings the good Lord granted him. When his parents asked, he said he wanted to go to Divinity school. Saving pennies and working long hours at neighboring farms, he – along _with_ his parents – had managed to scrape together enough to afford it. He had gone to a school in Pennsylvania and returned a reverend. Shortly after he had found his flock. He spent his well-content days shepherding them through not only everyday occurrences, but a flood of troubles like the coming of a tornado that wiped over half of the congregation's crops out. People admired him. Looked up to him. Especially one young beauty with hair the color of freshly-turned earth and eyes like black diamonds. Her name was Ginny, and they married within a month of meeting. Within two years they had a son. They named him Jacob, after the father of their faith.

Sadly, they forgot what Jacob had been before he became Israel.

As the child grew, it became apparent there would be no others. The doctors could give them no reason. Perhaps that infection Ginny suffered after the boy's birth? He didn't doubt God then, but believed Jacob was meant for special things, that was why he was the only one, so they could shower him with all their attention and give him all they had.

It didn't take long. While he was away looking after his flock, Jacob's mother began to spoil him. Soon the child was a terror and, when he would discipline him, the boy would fly to Ginny's arms. Using his God-given charm Jacob began to build a wall between them, intent on getting his own way. If he even so much as dared to mention the boy needed a thrashing, Ginny would grow wild and unhinged. In the end, he left them alone and turned to his work to keep him sane.

Reverends, after all, were not allowed to divorce.

Daily, he prayed. Daily, he asked for God's guidance. And daily he watched Jacob grow more and more like his namesake – a cheat, a liar, and someone who would do anything to get what he wanted.

Inevitably the day came when the knock on his door brought the news he had dreaded but expected. Jacob, while drunk, had gotten into a brawl which led to a gun fight in the street. His son was slower on the draw. His beautiful brown-haired boy was shot in the gut and died.

Jacob was only sixteen.

Though he sought to comfort Ginny, she would not be comforted. Ten months after their son's death, he was forced to commit her to an asylum where she died two years later. The day the telegram arrived telling him of her death, he had just buried a child of five who had been killed when he got too close to the kickin end of his father's horse.

The day the telegram arrived he had stopped believing in a good and loving God.

Oh, he continued on in his ministry for another year – mouthing words he no longer accepted as true – just long enough to have an affair with the wife of one of the elders, and to use his influence over her to empty the church coiffeurs.

In the dark of the night and his soul, he had run.

After that he had gone from town to town living riotously in one and then pretending to pastor in the next. He never ceased believing in God, but it was the God of Jacob's father, Isaac – the harsh, punishing God of the Old Testament he knew. Each day when he woke he knew there was no hope – God could never forgive him – and so he did the worst he could do, hoping to call down a thunderbolt and end it all.

Then he met Noyes Runyon. The obese businessman was looking for a partner to run scams on wealthy individuals. Noyes could have cared less what his past was. He just saw the opportunity of traveling with a 'man of God'. The businessman said it leant him an 'air of respectability'. For his part, he got a third of the take of Noyes' schemes while the fat man took the rest. That suited him fine. It gave him enough money to fill his belly and that was all he needed.

One day they had been talking and he had mentioned his brother, Leander. They were traveling to Nevada as the pickings there were lush due to the recent discovery of silver, when he remembered his brother mentioning he had an old friend who had settled there and done quite well. Noyes eyes had lit with avarice when he said the friend's name was Benjamin Cartwright. The Cartwright spread was the largest in Nevada. A rancher like that would keep large amounts of money in their safe. It shouldn't be too hard to relieve him of some of it either through a scam or by breaking into it.

And so the scheme to rob the Ponderosa had begun.

Atticus sighed and shifted again, laying on his back and looking at the hard, brilliant stars. Everything would have gone according to plan if Noyes hadn't decided – at the last minute – that they needed some muscle with them. They'd done it before, hired some gunslinger to come along for the ride to protect them. Usually they were fairly desperate men, in need of money, and all too happy to cooperate. Noyes had been off by himself, in a saloon in Reno, when he met Fleet Rowse. They'd struck up a deal and Rowse joined them as they headed to Virginia City. It didn't take long to realize that Rowse was cut from a different cloth. He didn't take orders. He gave them. He also spent a good part of the day polishing his various weapons from a wicked looking knife to a handgun with a dozen notches cut into its handle.

But worse than that – _worse_ than Rowse being a murderer – he was deranged.

He'd realized it first when he found the occasional animal butchered near the place they had camped as they readied to go. The animals had not been killed for food, but for pleasure. The truth of his assumption crystallized one day when it was a man he had stumbled over, killed in the same way – his throat slit and unspeakable acts committed on his corpse. He knew then that Rowse could not be trusted and had done all he could to get Noyes to listen to him and to leave the man behind. To no avail.

In fact, Noyes seemed fascinated by Rowse's evil.

Atticus turned over again and then sat up. Sleep was not going to come, so he rose and went to check the Cartwright boy again. As he knelt at they boy's side, he cast another glance at Noyes and Rowse where they lay now by the fire. The three of them stood on the edge of a knife. So far – at least for him and Noyes – no killings could be laid at their feet. If they were caught, it would mean prison, but _only_ prison. If Fleet had his way and he killed Little Joe, they would be hanged.

The rail-thin man swallowed hard as he looked at Ben Cartwright's precious son who lay tossing and turning, lost in a fevered world.

He had to find a way to help the boy escape.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The clear night had helped Adam travel quickly. He was more almost halfway home. It was growing late and though the moon would have allowed him to continue, he felt in his heart there was no real need to rush. Pa was having his usual reaction to a long separation from Joe. He and Hoss had talked about it. Right after Marie died their pa had driven himself mercilessly, working from dawn to dusk and often staying away from the house for days, or even weeks at a time. They both understood that Pa couldn't stand the thought of Marie not being there. The problem was, a part of their stepmother remained behind and it – or he – spent most of his time crying, heartsick for the loss of _both_ his parents. Joe was inconsolable.

There'd come a day when Pa saw what he was doing. It had involved Little Joe running away in search of his mama. Some days Joe understood Marie was dead – well, understood as well as a five year old _could_ that his mother was not coming back. But then there were other days, days when Little Joe was sure she'd just gone away and he needed to find her and tell her how much they all needed her to return. By the time their Pa rolled in he and Hoss had been frantic. They'd looked everywhere. There were so many perils – so _many_ things in the West that could take the life of a little boy wandering lost. It was their pa who finally came upon the simple answer. None of them had thought Joe could remember the way. They were wrong.

Pa found Little Joe asleep on his mother's grave.

It was then their father realized that the cord between him and Little Joe had nearly severed, and he'd determined upon the spot that it _never_ would.

After that, it had been hard to tear Pa from Joe's side. To his little brother's chargin, even as a little boy he felt smothered at times. Pa had to know where Joe was going, when he would get back, whether he was in or out...sometimes the older man was even waiting for him when he came back from the necessary! Pa had taken hold of the reins and Joe bucked, and kicked, and screamed like a frustrated stallion trying to throw its rider. Adam snorted.

Pa, of course, kept his seat.

As he paused in the middle of the road, again considering the ride to the ranch, Adam squinted and imagined the cord that had been formed that day stretching all the way from his father rounding up cattle in the north, to his little brother in the south. His little brother who was, no doubt, safe and secure and seated in front of the hearth playing checkers with their young houseguest.

"Well, Scout," the black-haired man said with a yawn, "what Pa doesn't know won't hurt him. Let's you and me find somewhere warm to bed down for the night."

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Fleet Rowse stood at the edge of the Paiute graveyard, staring up at the crossed spears that marked the place of no return. He'd sent Noyes and Atticus along with the rich kid up to a cave in the hills. It overlooked this place and from it he'd be able to see whether or not Ben Cartwright showed with the money in the morning. If he didn't, he'd have to decide what to do. With the snowstorm and the changes to the terrain, the rancher could easily be held up. Or, he might have been away from his ranch and not gotten the note his son had written into his hands until hours after it was delivered. Rowse spit tobacco juice and sneered. He could be generous. He'd give Ben Cartwright until nightfall before killing the kid and cutting his losses. Any longer than that would be too dangerous. That note could just as easily have ended up in the hands of Virginia City sheriff and the law could be on his tail right now. The outlaw scowled as he continued to stare at the crossed spears. He didn't need the law on his tail. He'd left a trail of an awful lot of dead men in his wake.

Rowse snorted and spit again. Probably made no nevermind anyhow. You could only hang a man once.

Moving closer to the spears, Rowse toed the earth just beyond them. It was probably stupid, him takin' this job, working with two conmen who didn't have a brain between them. Normally, he would have traveled with them a day or two, let them work their 'magic', and then killed them both and taken off with the cash. He would have this time too if it hadn't been for that name – Cartwright. He had a special hate in his heart for the Cartwrights, especially the old man. He'd worked that ranch for nigh onto a year and gotten fired out of hand for drinkin' and cussin' too much on a drive one time. When Noyes said he and the preacher were gonna fleece the Ponderosa, he decided one 'good' turn deserved another.

It was a bonus that he was gonna get to kill one of Ben Cartwright's kids.

Their plan had been formed when he got to town and found out his kid sister – whom he hadn't seen in years – was stayin' with the Cartwrights. He figured he'd just pay Rory a visit and see if he couldn't get her to help them and maybe, well, maybe come away with him. Since his wanted poster was plastered around Virginia City, they decided it would be best if Atticus went to the ranch house first, got himself invited in, and then – when he had a chance – left one of the upstairs windows open. Of course his high-and-mighty widowed sister had to go and listen to Ben Cartwright's lies about him and tell him to go to Hell. Fleet snorted. Blood will out.

Yeah, right.

Blood had done nothin' but turn on him since he'd been old enough to know it. His backside had been red as his adopted father's skin from his and Rory's old man beating him for bein' wayward and disobedient. He'd wandered out in the woods to get away from the bastard when the Paiutes found him. They'd lost one of their own in a raid the night before and took him to fill the boy's place. Turned out it had been a son of Red Pony. At first, Pony's woman took to him, but the Indian chief didn't. When he was little, he couldn't see past the color of his skin. But as he grew and began to take on the role of a Paiute 'man' – ridin' hard and leavin' plenty of _white_ corpses behind – it didn't the warrior long to discover that his adopted son was more like him than either of the two 'blood' sons he had left. Neither one of them came close to him for bloodlust.

Neither _enjoyed_ the killing like Pony and him did.

Anyhow, they'd gone after white men, killing as many as they could, and that's when Ben Cartwright had sealed the fate of that boy laying up there in the cave on the hill. The rancher took exception to them killing and burning out some of his neighbors. Him and that older boy of his shot down several of his Indian brothers and wounded Red Pony. As he sat in the healer's tent at his Indian father's side, not knowin' whether or not the warrior would live, he'd made a vow. He swore then and there that – one day – he'd do somethin' to make things even.

It seemed that day had come.

Fleet Rowse turned and looked toward the cave. Hell, you couldn't walk through Virginia City without hearing how proud Ben Cartwright was of those boys of his. There wasn't a thing on the earth the old man could lose that would even come _close_ to hurtin' him as much as one of his sons. The rich rancher'd give up his thousand acres and all the land, timber, and money he had, just to save one of them. Some would call that a father's love.

He called it a father's _weakness._

As his gaze returned to the raised spears, Fleet considered stepping past them. He didn't believe the hogwash the Paiutes did about the spirits of the dead lingerin' there. The dead were dead. There weren't no Heaven. No, there was nothing but Hell and it was here on earth. Still, Red Pony believed it and if there was a single man on the earth he respected, it was the Paiute chief.

Backing away from the entry to the graveyard, Fleet Rowse turned and headed for his horse.

He'd have to pay the old man a visit and let him know what he'd done.

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Atticus Godfrey glanced at Little Joe Cartwright where lay curled up in a far corner of the cave. After arriving, Noyes had deposited the wounded boy there and then gone to the opposite corner and lit a fire. Laying down by it, his partner in crime had fallen asleep after issuing a sharp order that he be awakened when Rowse turned up.

If there was a chance, it was now.

Crossing over to where their captive lay, Atticus crouched beside him and touched the side of his neck. The boy moaned and shifted, but didn't wake. Most likely because the fever was raging in him. The preacher let out a long sigh. It was doubtful Little Joe would survive what it would take to make an escape attempt.

It was definite, however, that he would _not_ survive Rowse's lust for blood.

Atticus removed his hand and glanced at the cave's mouth. Their 'hired gun' was a vindictive, angry, and dangerous man and it seemed he had something personal against the Cartwrights. He wasn't sure now that Rowse hadn't intended to kill one or all of the four men from the very start. Fleet seemed to delight in this young man's worsening condition. The outlaw meant for Little Joe to suffer as much as possible before he killed him.

As he reached out again to take the young man's good shoulder in his fingers, Atticus reminded himself that this boy's impending fate was just one more proof there was no such thing as a kind and loving God.

Clamping his other hand over the boy's mouth, he shook him gently.

"Little Joe, wake up," the thin man said, his voice hushed and urgent, "You need to wake up. Now!"

He was rewarded with a moan. A few seconds later the boy stirred and his eyes opened wide with puzzlement.

"Keep quiet!" Atticus glanced at Noyes, who was oblivious. "I've thought about what you said. I'm going to help you get away."

Joe's brow wrinkled. He shook his head.

"I know you're weak. But taking a chance out there is better than remaining here where you _have_ no chance." As he spoke, he removed his hand and began to work on the ropes binding Little Joe's wrists. After finishing with them, he moved to the boy's feet. In a minute Ben Cartwright's son was free.

"Can you stand?" he asked as his hand went to the young man's elbow.

"No," Little Joe said softly.

Atticus looked at Noyes again before asking, "What do you mean 'no'? Are you too weak to stand?"

The boy shook his head. "Never...make it. Not worth...the...risk to you," he said as he pushed his hand away.

A knife to the heart would have been kinder than those words.

The rail-thin man stuttered. "Don't...don't worry about me. I've made my...my choices and they've sealed my fate."

Joe snorted softly and his lips curled up at one end. His response was breathy. "Pa says that's...arrogance speakin'."

"Arrogance?" Atticus shook his head. "It's the truth! God's done with me. I know His rules, boy, and I have broken _every_ one of them."

Joe Cartwright's feverish eyes locked on his face. "You...know His rules. What about...God's grace?"

Atticus Godfrey could feel the fire running through the boy's body; felt it shudder through him, causing his weakened frame to shiver. Little Joe was far from home, alone, and in the company of desperate men; wounded and looking death in the face.

And he was talking about _grace?_

"I won't leave you behind," was all he managed to say.

"Well, then...I'd best go...with you," Little Joe said as he found his feet. As he looped the boy's good arm over his shoulder, the young man turned a pale and perspiring face on him. "Atticus, someone...needs to keep...you out of trouble," he grinned.

A minute later, as Noyes snored away, he and Little Joe left the cave with its ominous future behind and headed out into the blistering cold night. Sitting Little Joe on a tree stump, Atticus quietly freed the horses and then – still holding onto the boy – led his and Noyes' mounts a little ways into the wood where he helped Joe Cartwright to mount. The way the boy swayed in the saddle frightened him. It was obvious it was all he could do to sit the horse.

Still, there was nothing to do but try.

Atticus gave his companion a tight smile and then climbed into the saddle on his own animal. Catching the boy's eye, he nodded encouragingly as he caught its reins and led horse and rider into the trees. It would be hard going, but they dare not take the road. He was hoping a new fall of snow would cover their tracks before Rowse began to hunt them. The former preacher knew he was beyond God's grace, so he did not pray for himself. But for this boy – so young and yet so wise – he did lift a prayer as they set off, asking for God's grace and mercy.

If he was lucky, maybe a little bit of it would overflow.


	11. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Adam Cartwright halted just behind the tall rock tower. He spent a moment blinking both fatigue and snow from his eyes – yes, it was falling again – and then took another look. The line shack lay below, nestled in a small depression in the land, just as he expected.

What he didn't expect was to see a thin trail of smoke rising from its chimney.

He ran his mind back through the orders he'd issued over the last few weeks. He was sure that no one was supposed to be in residence. Almost all the men were on the drive. Of course, it wasn't unheard of for some passing wayfarer in need to shelter to pass the night in one of the shacks. That's part of why they left them stocked with both food and clothes. Still, there was no horse tethered out front, which begged the question of how anyone could have gotten there. Obviously, if someone was traveling on a night like tonight without a horse they were either a fool or desperate. Dismounting, he caught Sports' reins in his hand and began to walk. When he was about a hundred feet out from the shack, he tied them to a high branch in an ice-covered bush and left the horse behind. Moving silently on foot he hoped to catch whoever was inside unawares.

Behind him, Sport snorted and whinnied, not liking the idea of being left behind.

"Quiet, boy. I'll be right back," he said softly. "Maybe I'll bring you a treat."

Sport shook himself as if he considered that unlikely, but settled down.

When Adam turned back to the shack, he saw a shadow pass before the window to the left of the door. Someone was _definitely_ in there. As he walked, he undid the strap that held his gun in place and palmed the weapon. When he was about a dozen feet out, he paused again to assess the situation. There was a bar on the door inside and most likely it was down. His only hope of entering unawares was the window in the back as it had a broken lock that had not yet been fixed. Rounding the house, he kept an eye to the door, ready in case it flew open. When he reached the back, the black-haired man holstered his gun and put his hand to the window. It was unlocked and opened easily. Then he ducked and waited. When no one shouted or fire a gun, Adam eased himself in and put his foot on the floor. As his other boot landed beside it, he lost his balance and slid sideways. There was a snap! Puzzled, he looked down.

He'd come _that_ close to stepping in a bear trap!

Even as the absurdity of _that_ registered on his tired brain, Adam felt something slam into him.

A second later a cloud of white dust rose into the air to swirl about him and a young female voice proclaimed, "I got you covered, mister. You just stay right where you are!"

If he had been in the middle of the snowstorm, his vision couldn't have been any worse.

"Now, wait a minute," Adam began, raising a hand, "who are you and what are you doing in –"

"You just put that other hand up too!" the girl ordered. "I told you, I got you covered!"

He could vaguely make out a small figure holding something out in front of it. Slowly, Adam raised his other hand.

"I know this looks bad, but I _can_ explain..."

"Like my Pa always says, 'the more you explain it, the less I understand it.'

Adam blinked. Such sage wisdom from a little girl who was on the attack _and_ quoting her even more sagacious pa. It could only mean _one_ thing.

"Elizabeth?"

There was a pause. "Who are you" she asked.

Obviously the white flour curtain blinded _both_ ways.

"Elizabeth, its me – Adam Cartwright."

He heard a short 'oh', then a sniff, and then the little girl barreled out of the flour dust cloud like a mule spotting home. They both fell on top of the bear trap.

Fortunately, it was sprung.

He sat there holding her for a minute, feeling her small body tremble and listening to her heartfelt sobs before reality set in.

If Elizabeth was here, where was _Joe?_

Dear God, his father had been right.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was as if he was sitting on needles. Ben Cartwright had tried to sleep – he really had – but something gnawed at him and surprisingly, it wasn't worry for Joe as much as for Adam. He'd been so concerned for his youngest son that he'd sent his eldest off alone to check on the youngster without considering that he might be endangering Adam as well. The weather was not only wicked but had proved itself treacherously changeable. They had gone from snow to sleet and, with the descent of darkness, back to snow. The ride home would be even more hazardous than the ride out had been. He should have sent someone else with Adam – one of the men. After all, they had more than enough to spare.

Troubled, Ben had risen, gathered his gear, and was standing next to Buck, trying to make up his mind about what to do. It was the middle of the night, but the moon was full. It made it nearly as bright as the day. It would be risky, venturing out at night in the snow, but he felt – somehow – if he waited until morning it would be too late.

For what he didn't know.

He knew he was being foolish. Most likely Adam was home or nearly there. His oldest would have a good supper, sip some brandy, and then most likely bed down on the settee rather than risk waking his brother or their guest. Adam would start back in the morning. He'd arrive safe and sound by the following night.

Or so he told himself.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. Ben recognized the grip and turned sheepishly to face his middle son.

"Pa, you ain't still worried about Little Joe, is you?"

How did he explain it? Yes, the worry for Joe was still there, but it was Adam's well-being that was uppermost in his mind at the moment.

"I'm worried for _both_ your brothers, Hoss," he said at last.

"Adam? What're you goin' and worryin' about _older_ brother for? You know Adam can take care of hisself."

He nodded. "Yes, I know...under _ordinary_ circumstances."

"Its winter, Pa, there's ice and snow." His son was puzzled. "What ain't _ordinary_ about that?"

The older man shook his head. There were no words.

"Heck, Pa, you know what? We got us a sight more men here workin' this round-up than we figured. I wouldn't be agin headin' back home. A hot toddy and a warm bed sound awful good right now." He chuckled. "Though it ain't gonna make the ones we leave behind none too happy."

He shook his head. "No, no. It's just an old man's fears – "

"Pa, you look at me." When he complied, the big man went on. "First of all, you ain't no _old_ man. And second of all, you ain't afraid of nothin'!" Hoss' eyes went to the road. "And third, Pa, I've been feelin' somethin' too. Somethin' like you do afore a storm blows in."

A storm. Yes. That was what he felt too.

With his oldest and youngest at its center.

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Joe was doing his best to escape, which wasn't saying much. Sad to say, his 'best' right now was hanging onto the saddle horn for dear life and not falling of the horse and flat onto his face. All track of where they had been or were was lost in a haze of fever and fatigue. With the night fallin' and the moon shinin' so bright, he couldn't get his bearings. Which was silly, really, since he knew that if the moon was risin' to his right, then he was pointed north and, vice versa, if it was on his left then he was heading south. The problem was, the minute he looked up at it waves of dizziness washed over him and he forgot where _he_ was!

Atticus' horse was directly in front of his. The former preacher was a lean shadow in the falling snow. The amount of snow had increased as they traveled and it fell like a screen between them. All around him the world was silent and white. Well, white tinged with the sort of electric-blue haze. At first he'd thought the snow just had a lot of ice in it and that was what the moonlight was catching. Then, he'd realized that wasn't it. Moonlight sparklin' on ice didn't run along the white snow drifts like lightning riding a stormy sky. He was seeing things.

Which meant his fever was growing dangerously high.

Still, there was no going back, only going forward. Behind him lay Fleet Rowse, aware of their escape by now and mad as a meat ax. Going back meant dyin' slowly in that maniac's hands. Out here, he'd just freeze. He'd always heard dyin' of the cold wasn't so bad. You got real cold, then _real_ warm.

And then everything went dark.

"You're lagging, Little Joe," Atticus' voice came from out of the white wall ahead of him. "We need to find a ranch or homestead, somewhere with help. Rowse will be on out trail the minute he discovers we're gone."

Joe smirked. He _wasn't_ stupid. He knew that. After all, hadn't he just said...

No, he'd just been thinkin', not talkin'.

Hadn't he?

Atticus had ended up being all right after all. Men made mistakes, that's what pa always said, what mattered was that they made it right by the end. _'A man can be forgiven most anything, Joseph,'_ he'd told him. _'Anything other than giving up.'_

Joe straightened in the saddle and shifted his feet. He was so numb he found it near impossible to do, but he managed to tighten his knees and lean into the animal, urging more speed. The horse turned and looked at him, clearly confused. When he wondered why, he realized it was because, even though he'd told the horse to move, he was gettin' off.

As his face hit the snow Joe Cartwright sighed, wonderin' if he was gonna burn in Hell for all eternity.

And gave up.

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Elizabeth looked up through her sniffs and tears and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Mister Adam."

"About what?" he asked

Her head went down. She nuzzled her cheek against his chest. There were more sniffs, more tears, and then she blurted out one word.

" _Everything!"_

For a moment he said nothing, Then, "Perhaps if you could tell me just _'what'_ everything..."

The little girl looked up again. Her face was smeared with moisture and mud; her spiraling blond hair, thick with bracken and leaves. Her blue eyes were wide as the sky.

He drew a breath even as she did.

"Oh, Mister Adam, I tried, I _really_ did. You told me I had to look after my little brother, and I tried _so_ hard! I didn't mean for Little Joe's foot to get run over by that carriage wheel, you know that, and for him to end up limpin' so bad. And when we went out sleighing and all that snow fell on top of him, I dug Little Joe out, really I did, and made sure he got back to the house. I kept that old lady from flirting with him and him from makin' a 'fool out of himself' as Ma would say, but then I had to go to bed! I was _so_ tired. What's an older sister to do when they have to go to sleep and someone sneaks into the house and does something bad to their little brother?"

His head was reeling by the time she let breath out.

"Whoa, slow down, Elizabeth," Adam said. He'd followed most of her dialogue, figuring out that the 'old lady' was Aurora Guthrie – the beautiful woman he'd warned Pa about putting in charge of his...well...rather _passionate_ younger brother – and even though he didn't know about the incident in the snow, it didn't surprise or worry him. It was the last statement that someone had 'done something bad' to little brother that made him sit up and pay attention.

"Someone hurt Little Joe?" he asked, forgetting to soften his tone.

It was more of a wail than an answer. "Yeeeesssssssss!"

She was terrified and he needed to find out why. He also knew terrifying her even _more_ wasn't going to get him anywhere. So, swallowing his fear and his urgency to know, Adam said quite evenly, "How about we get you something to eat? I bet you haven't had anything in a long time. Am I right?"

How in the world the child had ended up out here in the line shack alone, he had no idea.

"Elizabeth?"

She sniffed again. "Not since I left the ranch house."

He smiled. "And how long ago was that?"

The child shrugged. "It was light outside. Sheriff Roy and Hop Sing were arguin' and not payin' any attention, and I left 'cause I knew they'd stop me if I told them I was going to look for Joe and the bad men who took him."

Bad ' _men_ '. So there was more than one.

"And why was Sheriff Coffee _at_ the house?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "Because of the bad men."

"...right." Adam drew a calming breath. "And _which_ bad men would that be?"

"I don't know 'cause I was sleepin'." Elizabeth paused. The fear deepened in her eyes. "But Sheriff Roy was talkin' to Hop Sing about them and Hop Sing was crying."

Dear Lord! Adam swallowed hard. "Why?"

"Hop Sing felt guilty. He said that he was outside takin' a walk and looking at the stars when one of the bad men hit him over the head. When he woke up he was in the house and saw Little Joe laying on the floor with another one of the bad men standing over him." She scowled. "He said they took little brother out into the cold without even a coat or hat even though he was hurt!"

So, Joe could be _freezing_ to death as they spoke.

"Go on."

"Hop Sing said little brother had been hit on the head, but Mrs. Guthrie said it was worse."

When she failed to go on, he asked, "Worse...how?"

Elizabeth shivered. "She said the bad man stuck him with a knife."

Freezing _and_ bleeding to death.

What _next?_

Forcing a smile he said, "You know little brothers. They can get into a mess of trouble, but they always know we big brothers and sisters will find and rescue them."

Adam knew in the child's experience it was true. Come to think of it, so was it in his.

That gave him _some_ small hope.

Elizabeth sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. A second later she gave him a little smile.

His mind awhirl, Adam took her hand and said, "Now, let's go get that food. We have to think hard about what we're going to do next." After all, he couldn't leave her alone here in the line shack. Then again, he couldn't really take her with him if he went off to look for 'bad men' who had his brother. As she nodded and they started for the door, a sound in the outer room made him freeze.

Someone was out there!

"Elizabeth, get behind me!" Adam ordered as he drew his gun from its holster. "Someone's in the other room."

She frowned and then giggled. "Oh, that's just Freckles."

It was his turn to frown. "Freckles?" Why did the name seem familiar?

Freckles...

Adam threw the door open to a whinny and a snort.

"Oh, right... Freckles. "

In the end, at first light, after a few hours sleep and then filling the child's belly with food and making sure she was bundled up like an Inuit, Adam took Elizabeth with him. His fear for Joe – occasioned by the few words the little girl had overheard and related to him – overcame his fear for her. She was a courageous child. She'd proven that by what she'd done the first time they'd met her, taking care of Joe after her family rescued him from a fire, and by what she had done today – riding off into what amounted to an early blizzard to save his brother from the bad men who meant to hurt him.

So here they were, mounted on one horse in order to conserve body heat, heading toward the Ponderosa in the hope that somehow God would give him a sign and he wouldn't ride past his little brother's corpse buried under a silent blanket of snow.

As they began to move, a smile tickled Adam's lips. They'd left Freckles in the line shack with a note attached to his collar stating what they were doing in case someone came out to check it.

He wished he could be there to see the face of the man who did.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Atticus looked over his shoulder at the young man he'd left behind and sighed. He'd pulled Joe Cartwright's unconscious form into a sheltered depression in a rock-face and covered him with everything he had from his woolen scarf to the thin moth-ridden blankets Noyes had provided long ago in the slim hope of protecting him from the elements. Snow was falling again and the wind had picked up. Inside the depression it was, perhaps, ten degrees warmer. Enough, he hoped, to keep the boy from freezing to death.

At the moment Little Joe was eerily still. As he'd settled him in the boy had grown restless, calling out for his father and fighting against him. The wound in his shoulder had festered and his fever spiked. There were small trails of red now running along his chest from the knife cut toward his heart. Atticus' fists clenched. He _had_ to get help. This was _his_ fault. If he'd fought Noyes and made his opinion clear when he'd insisted on hiring Rowse, this would never have happened. They would have found the safe empty and been on their way, ready for the next challenge. But he'd been too weak, too _pathetic_ to object. He'd remained silent, and now that silence was going to cost a young man his life.

Lifting the knife he had brought with him, the former preacher marked the tree by his horse's head, chipping away at it until its tender white flesh showed. He was going for help. He didn't know where he'd find it, but that's where he was headed. Once he found it he'd need the marked trees to bring him back to this place, to the boy whom he was abandoning to the arms of a God he feared but no longer knew.

After sheathing the knife, the rail-thin man stood still and let the snow cascade around him. The frigid wind chaffed his exposed skin, drying his lips and making his eyes burn. As he stood there, mired in self-loathing, a scripture from Isaiah – the word of God he thought lost to him – sounded in his ear.

' _And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.'_

Grace.

How he forgotten?

Atticus looked at Joe Cartwright in wonder. Was this why God had sent the horror that was Fleet Rowse into his life? Did He know what it would take to make him remember – one wounded and dying boy, showing mercy and unwarranted grace to the man who had kidnapped him?

Atticus Godfrey fell to his knees and lifted his hands to the sky. Tears streamed down his cheeks, quickly turning to ice, as he lifted his face as well and cried out in King David's words, _"Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving-kindness, according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin, for I acknowledge my transgressions and my sin is ever before me."_ His head bowed as he continued, overwhelmed by shame and remorse. _"Against thee and thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest."_

The snow didn't stop falling nor the wind grow calm. No angel appeared to point the way out of the trees, or burning bush appear to melt the snow. Still, Atticus Godfrey knew God had heard him for the weight of his sin that he had carried sine his son died was suddenly, mercifully, and with a grace surpassing human understanding, lifted.

He was free.

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Worn out by the cold and worry, Ben Cartwright and his middle son, Hoss, had finally been forced to stop. Dropping where they stood, they'd both tried to catch a few hours of sleep. It had proved to be an exercise in futility. Each time Ben woke – and there were many – he became aware of his son tossing and moaning. When Hoss work, it was the same. The dream that had plagued the father of the three young Cartwrights before – the one where Joseph lay buried in snow – had come back to haunt him, only this time it was worse.

This time his elder brother lay beside him.

It was impossible for Ben to tell if it was night or day because he walked in the midst of a blizzard. There world was white and there was an all-over diffused light that could have been cast by the moon _or_ the sun. In the distance he could hear men calling out his sons' names. They were searching as _he_ was searching, only _they_ had not found them.

He had.

Ben found them together, laying as if asleep. Adam's arm encircled his brother's shoulders protectively. Joseph's gaunt face was turned into his brother's coat. The world around them was quiet as the grave. As the older man stood there facing the truth that – this time – there was to be no answer to his desperate prayer, the snow continued to fall, rising, ever rising until it obscured his sons' cold, stiff bodies, leaving only their pale faces revealed.

And then, those too vanished.

"No!" Ben sat up gasping for air. His heart was racing so fast it was hard to catch a breath. " _No!"_

Hoss was at his side in a minute. The big man placed a hand on his back and asked, half-frantic, "Pa! What is it?"

How did he answer? What had it been? A dream?

Or a premonition?

The older man shook his head. "Give...me a...minute," he managed.

"You okay, Pa? You ain't sick or nothin'?"

He shook his head. Only sick with fear.

"Is there...any water?" Ben asked.

"Sure thing, Pa. I kept the canteen right by the fire." His giant-size son could move with incredible speed when he wanted to. Hoss returned to his side in seconds.

Ben took the warm metal object in his hands. He opened it and poured some of the tepid water down his throat. Then he nodded.

"Thanks."

Hoss took it and capped it, but his eyes never left him. "What's wrong, Pa?"

"A dream...no, a nightmare," he answered as he swallowed. "Your brothers were in danger. They were laying together in a snowbank. They..."

"You dreamed they was _together?"_

He nodded.

"What'd Little Joe be doin' out in the middle of this big old snow? He's got Miss Elizabeth to look after. Joe wouldn't bring a little thing like her out into this."

No, he wouldn't. Not unless he _had_ to.

Hoss paused and then asked, his voice hushed. "Is this one of them there special dreams you have, Pa? The kind that most often ring true?"

He patted the young man's arm to reassure him. "There's only one thing I know for certain, son. We need to get home." He rose to his feet. "We need to get home _now."_

"Yes, sir. I'll saddle up the horses. You feel good enough to break the camp?"

His nod was enough to send the big man flying. Hoss was worried too. He _had_ been since they'd left the cattle and the hands behind. Something was wrong and they both knew it.

Something was _terribly_ wrong.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Little Joe slipped quietly down the stairs of the ranch house. He was headed for the kitchen. Tomorrow was his big brother Hoss's 15th birthday. When he'd gone into the kitchen earlier to tell Hop Sing that his pa wanted to talk to him, he'd run smack-dab into the middle of a dream. There was a cake on the table big enough to feed all the hands on the Ponderosa, plus lots of other sweet things coated with icing and dotted with fruit. In the middle of the same table was a big old bird cooked to perfection, smelling of butter and salt that would be sliced, cold, and eaten the next day. But most impressive of all was the stack of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate truffles by the ice box. Made with dark chocolate, butter, and sweet cream, and dotted with nuts and toasted coconut, they were one of Hoss's favorite. Trouble was, they were his _very_ favorite. When he lingered a minute too long by the plate, Hop Sing gave him a scolding and shooed him out of the kitchen with a warning that one of his Chinese dragons would come and carry him off if he so much as breathed on those truffles. The confections, the man from China said, were a present for his brother and if he wanted one, he would have to ask for it.

Right. Like he'd have given up one if Hoss had asked _him._

So, he'd waited until the house settled down and then headed for the kitchen.

He was just gonna take one. Only _one._ Hoss would never know that it was missing, and unless Hop Sing counted them before Hoss dove in, which was doubtful, he wouldn't know it either.

Crossing to the ice box, Joe opened the door and stared at the marvels inside. It only took a second to spot the tray of little dark mounds near the back. As he reached in to pinch one, he heard the sound of footsteps in the yard. Terrified that he was about to be discovered, he looked around, searching for a place to hide. Finding none, he crossed to the door and, lifting the latch, slipped outside.

Snow was falling. It was pretty as anything, but it was also cold and all he was wearing was his nightshirt. Lifting up on his toes, he peered back inside and saw Pa rummaging around the kitchen. The older man had a crystal glass in his hand and Joe supposed it held brandy. Sometimes his pa had trouble sleeping. He'd come down in the middle of the night and read, usually with a drink and a snack at his side. Joe crouched as his father came to the door and looked out, and then breathed a sigh of relief as the older man extinguished the lantern he'd lit in the kitchen and returned to the great room.

Joe let out an audible sigh of relief as he reached with a shaking hand for the door, and then panicked when the door wouldn't open. The latch must have fallen into place.

He was locked outside!

He thought about going in through the front door, but his pa was there and he'd get the thrashing of his life for trying to steal Hoss' treats and then being stupid enough to get locked outside. Wrapping his arms around his nightshirt, Joe looked up at the porch roof. He could climb up there, but it wouldn't do him any good. All the windows were locked and sealed for the winter. Shivering and shaking, he rounded the house, walking along the tree line. As he did the snow began to fall in earnest. A big wind blew up and sent it flying, so fast and so thick he couldn't see what he was doing or where he was going.

Before he knew it he was lost.

Joe shuddered. He knew the house couldn't be that far away but, no matter what way he went, it seemed to be the _wrong_ one He walked and walked until his bare feet were frozen, until his nose and fingers were numb; until his eyes grew heavy and he felt like he couldn't walk another step – until he felt like walking was a harder thing than roping or steering or cutting timber. Finally, unable to continue, Joe dropped to the ground and lay there shivering until the wind pulled a snowy blanket up to cover him and he started to feel warm. As his eyes closed and he lost consciousness, a small smile lifted the corners of his lips. Pa was gonna be _mighty_ angry when he died because of being stupid.

As the cold gave way to a numbing warmth, Little Joe Cartwright snorted.

And all on account of a truffle.

When Joe at last pried open his eyes, he was surprised to find that he wasn't dead. He wasn't eight years old either, and under the blanket of snow that covered him were two other warmer blankets made of cloth and several other garments. As he shifted his position and winced with pain as he propped his wounded shoulder against the rock-face behind him, he had to chuckle. Sad to say, the _rest_ of it was real enough.

There was a snowstorm ragin' and, sure enough, he _was_ out in it alone.

As he looked around, Joe noted the shallow depression he was in and the remnants of a burned out fire beside him. He was sure he hadn't possessed the strength to build it, so that meant someone else was with him or had _been_ with him. Clear as his thinking was at the moment – and as surprising as that was considerin' the fever he had – he just couldn't remember who.

"Maybe Hoss came lookin' for his lost truffle," he snorted.

Joe turned his eyes to the white world that surrounded him. He'd been out in the snow before, not really lost, but lost enough to know how to survive. There'd been times on the winter drive when he and his pa and brothers had been separated. Once, he and Adam had to weather a whole day without any real shelter. The fact that it was snowing meant it wasn't too unbearably cold, but then again, that howling wind meant thirty-two degrees could feel like ten. His pa had taught them all that the first thing they needed to do was find a place to hunker down in. The second thing was to find water. It was funny how water was all around you in a snowstorm – feet deep at times – but there was nothin' to drink. Joe looked at the fire again.

If only he could rekindle it somehow.

He had to face it. Lookin' at it clearly, his options were few – either remain where he was and wait for help, or get up and go look for it. While the depression he was in was serving to protect him from the wind at the moment he knew, when night came, that the lower temperatures – added to his weakened state – would probably be the end. And of course, being Joe Cartwright, sittin' and waitin' never set too well with him anyhow. Still, he was relatively warm under his snow-covered woolen blankets and it would be sheer cussedness to start out with no end in sight.

Then again, his pa often told him – with a sigh and a roll of his near-black eyes – that it was that 'sheer cussedness' that kept him alive.

Figurin' it was all or nothing, Joe rose to his feet by scooting his back up the wall. He remained still once he had managed it, knowing full well that if he moved too fast he'd just end up pitching over and lyin' face down in the snow. He'd probably stay there too, until someone found his bones during the spring thaw and took them back to lay beside his mama. Joe reached down and caught the mass of cloth covering him with his fingers and tossed it off. Instantly, he began to shake. Drawing a deep breath, he rose slowly and then reached down and grabbed the top blanket. With effort Joe worked it around his shoulders and then followed it as quickly as possible with the other thin blanket. Exhausted, he leaned against the wall gathering strength and looked down. There was a black coat lyin' on the snow that had been in the mix, but he was too tired to drop the blankets and shinny into it, so he left it lyin' on the ground along with a few other pieces of cloth he couldn't identify.

The sun was rising. That meant, in spite of the current fall of snow, which was fairly thick, he was able to tell directions. He was facing east now. Home lay to the south. Fleet Rowse and the others had brought him to Paiute land, but he had no idea where he was on it. He could be east or west of the main road.

Thinking of Rowse brought Atticus Godfrey to mind. It also made him recall that it was the former reverend who had freed him, so it must have been him who left him in the shallow depression with a fire to keep him warm. Joe could only assume the preacher had gone for help. The curly-headed youth looked around. He had no knife to mark a tree with, but knew he needed to leave Atticus a sign of where he'd gone. Catching one of the pieces of cloth up, Joe walked over to a tree and, with nearly frozen fingers, ripped off a piece and tied it to a low-lying branch.

Then, he began to walk.


	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

Fleet Rowse pounded his fist into the palm of his glove and then slammed it into the trunk of the snow-covered tree, bringing a shower of white down to settle on his hat and the shoulders of his thick winter coat. With a curse he brushed the fluffy stuff away, and then reached out and touched the place where the tree had been stripped by a knife. They'd been here.

Atticus and that cursed boy had been here and he'd missed them!

The snow was fallin' steadily, so he doubted he was going to find much of a trail from here on out. There'd been two horses moving at a fairly quick clip. One of them had headed east an hour or two back and then veered south. He figured if the horse tracks did belong to Atticus and the Cartwright kid, that the preacher was doing the backtrackin'. At that thought, the outlaw sneered. The knife cut in the kid's shoulder would be festerin' by now.

Joe Cartwright was definitely in no shape to sit a horse for long.

Leaving the marked tree behind, Fleet continued in the direction the hoof prints had been leading him. It came to an end at a rock wall with a shallow depression in it. When he searched the hollow he found it contained the remains of a fire and a few tossed-off pieces of clothing. He recognized one of them as a frock coat Atticus Godfrey carried and had added to the layers covering Ben Cartwright's son.

As he dropped the coat to the ground, Fleet turned and looked toward the horizon. The sun was up. If old man Cartwright was gonna show today with the money, he'd be at the graveyard by now. He'd left Noyes to negotiate with the rancher in case he made an appearance. Noyes was to tell Cartwright to leave the money between the spears and, once they'd made sure it was all there, to go home and wait. They'd take his son to a nearby town, the business man would say, and leave him there. That way the boy could wire and, in the time it took his father to get to him, they'd move on.

It was a given that the rancher would ask to see his son alive before he'd be willin' to go. He'd ordered Noyes to refuse and to tell the old man that the boy would have a bullet in his skull if he didn't get moving in 'three, two, one.'

The outlaw ran a hand over his stubbled chin. He might just let Noyes Runyon live after all. The fat man had changed. He was gettin' real good at enjoying what he was doin' and takin' it to the end no matter what.

Atticus Godfrey, on the other hand, was a dead man.

Still, the right _reverend_ Godfrey was gonna hafta wait until he found Joe Cartwright. There were boot tracks leading away from the depression and even though they vanished about a dozen feet out, they were headed south toward the kid's home. From the look of them, Cartwright was already staggering. Every once in a while there was a spot of red, so his wound was open and bleedin'.

Most likely what he was going to find at the end of his hunt was a frozen corpse. Thoughtful, Rowse chewed the inside of his cheek.

Then again, he _might_ just get lucky.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy Coffee was tired and saddle sore and about as cold as a man could be. He was gettin' too old to sleep out under the stars with a pack of snow for a pillow. Even inside the shallow cave where they'd spent the night, with a fire and five layers of clothing – and blankets piled on top of that – he knew what them fishes in the ice house felt like! With a sneeze and a shiver he turned to scowl at his companion.

He'd be danged if the China man didn't look like he'd just woke up on a May morning!

'Course, that might have somethin' to do with the fact that they was lookin' at the line shack that lay along the route Elizabeth Carnaby's horse had taken – plus the fact that there was a near non-existent trail of smoke risin' from its chimney.

"Maybe missy Elizabeth and Little Joe in shack," the China man said, soundin' awful happy. "Maybe get away from bad men."

Roy nodded. "Could be. Or it could be Rowse and the other two are in there with them."

Hop Sing's face fell. "No horses outside. What bad men ride? How they get here?"

That lack of horses was peculiar-strange to say the least. The snow was fallin' hard enough there were no tracks left to tell how many might have ridden up to the shack. Elizabeth had ridin' when she left the house, so where was _her_ horse?

"Maybe them bad men are right smart," he ventured. "Maybe they took them horses up into the hills and tied them off so no one would think they was here."

The China man shook his head. "Then what build fire for?"

Hop Sing was right. No matter what way you twisted it, it just _didn't_ add up.

Roy drew his gun. He nodded to the other man. "Come on then. Let's find out."

The two of them approached the shack with caution, one from each side, well aware that any false move might cost the girl and Little Joe their lives if they _were_ inside. Roy'd checked the front window first, but the curtains were drawn. All he could tell was that, as he suspected, the fire was pretty much done since only a pale orange glow lit the interior of the main room. At the back of the small building he almost ran into Hop Sing. The China man was all excited and sayin' somethin' in that gibberish he called a language.

The lawman held a finger to his lips. "Now, Hop Sing, we gotta go quiet and slow-like. What's got you jumpin' like a cat in a kettle of fish?"

"Window on other side of shack open into bedroom. Tracks at base of window."

"Could you tell if it was someone goin' in or comin' out?"

He nodded. "Man go inside."

Hmm.

"Well, I guess there's nothin' for it then but to mosey on inside and see what we come up with," Roy answered. "Follow me, Hop Sing!"

It only took a few seconds to arrive at the open window. Roy made the China man stand back while he worked his way through the small openin' and then stood and waited as Hop Sing did the same. The door to the bedroom was closed. A pale peach light reached under it from the other room. Roy insisted on goin' first. Once they reached the door, he stopped and listened. Then, countin' down from three to one on his fingers, he shouldered it open and burst into the common room with his gun drawn.

The gray pony that looked at him was just about as surprised as he was.

As he scrunched up his nose at the proof that the horse had been trapped in the house for a while, the China man exclaimed, "What Freckles do in shack?! Where missy Elizabeth and where _Little Joe?"_

Roy had to admit. It was the answer to that _first_ question that was ticklin' his fancy at the moment.

"You s'pose Freckles left them and decided to set up house on his own?" he asked.

Hop Sing was hoppin' mad. "No time for joke! Horse here, missy Elizabeth, Little Joe _not._ Why?"

"Well, now, I don't rightly know." He swallowed a snicker. "You might try askin' Freckles."

He always loved it when the China man threw his hands in the air.

"Sheriff have no sense! Horse cannot talk!" Hop Sing exclaimed as he crossed to the pony. Freckles was lookin' at Ben's cook with just about the same amount of surprise as he was lookin' at him. "Horse no tell Hop Sing who here and who not, who come and who – "

The tirade abruptly stopped.

"What is it, Hop Sing?" Roy sobered as he moved to join him.

Hop Sing had turned. He was holdin' somethin' in his hand. It was a note.

Apparently even though Freckles couldn't speak, he _could_ write.

"It from Mistah Adam," the China man said, his voice hushed.

Roy took the scrap of paper that was folded over and opened it. He quickly perused the words written there. The first part of the message made him limp with relief. The second? Well, at least the girl wasn't out in all of this alone.

"What number one son have to say?"

Roy handed the paper to him. "It says that Adam came by the cabin like we did and found Elizabeth and Freckles here. Now, Adam, well, he had to make a choice – take the girl back to the Ponderosa or take her with him to look for Little Joe." The lawman sighed. He understood the boy's choice, but he didn't agree. "He chose the latter."

Hop Sing nodded. "Mistah Adam have big worry for little brother."

Roy read the note again and sighed. Adam wasn't the _only_ one.

At least now that the girl was in Ben's eldest son's care, he could concentrate on his first objective – findin' the outlaws who took Little Joe, and bringin' the boy home and them to justice. Since he'd been wounded back at the ranch house, the odds were Little Joe wasn't in too good of shape. He needed to find him quickly. Roy went to the front window, pushed the curtain back, and looked outside.

The dawn was breakin'.

Hop Sing followed him. "Bad men say kill Little Joe at dawn if money not there," he said quietly. "It dawn now."

Roy turned to look at him. "Now, don't you go worryin' about that too much, Hop Sing. Those men want that there ten thousand dollars they're expectin'. They know with the storm Ben might not have been able to make it to town, to the bank, and back in time. I'm bettin' they'll give him until midnight tonight at least. Maybe tomorrow mornin'."

He didn't look convinced. "Hop Sing hope so..."

Roy had headed for the door. Something in the China man's voice made him turn back just as he finished speakin'.

"...for bad men's sake."

It was stated so simply, so quietly, he almost missed it.

Almost.

"Now what are you thinkin', Hop Sing? Don't you go gettin' no idea about some kind of vigilante justice." He pointed to his badge. "I'm the law here, not you."

"Laws useless when men are pure. Unenforceable when men are corrupt," Ben's cook replied, his black eyes blazin' like coals in a stove.

"Now see here, you just get that notion right out of your head! Do you want me to leave you behind in this here shack with Freckles?" Roy frowned as he said it, realizin' how plumb loco that sounded. "'Cause I will if I feel I cain't _trust_ you!"

The other man crossed his arms defiantly. "Sheriff Roy trust Hop Sing do what best for Mistah Cartwright's number three son."

If that wasn't about the most _side-steppin'_ answer he'd ever got out of a man.

"And supposin', just _supposin_ ', Roy countered, "you think takin' the law into your own hands is _best_ for Little Joe, what then?"

The China man's jaw was set. "Then Hop Sing go to jail. If action save Little Joe, Hop Sing be happy to hang!"

Now just _what_ did you say to that?

Roy ran a stubbled hand across his chin. All he wanted right now was to find these men and get this over, to deliver Ben's youngest boy back to him, and then to go home to a warm meal and a warm bed and about twelve hours of lazin' in it. He didn't need no obstinate, mule-headed China man arguing with him 'til the cows came home.

Hop Sing was watchin' him. Lookin' for weakness, no doubt.

"Sheriff Roy forget."

"What'd I forget?" he asked, wary.

"Make Hop Sing deputy."

He _had_ forgotten that. Still, he didn't need no temporary deputy goin' off half-cocked either. In fact, it would make it a whole lot worse for him if someone in his employ was suspected of murder.

"So? That still don't make killin' right."

"Hop Sing not kill unless Little Joe in danger." He made a quick gesture. "Cross heart, hope to die."

Roy shook his head. "Now, we don't need no hopin' for that..." He eyed the China man. It was always a hard call, havin' someone in a posse or ridin' with him whose family member was at risk. Made them reckless. Foolish, even. "If I take you at your word, I expect you to keep it," he demanded.

"Hop Sing keep word to Sheriff Roy."

The lawman sighed. "All right. I give in. We'll both go. These are desperate men. You're gonna need a weapon." He smiled slyly. "How about that gun you got hidden away in that pack of your'n?"

He shook his head. "Hop Sing no have gun."

Roy scowled. "Well, what _have_ you got in there then? I seen you fussin' with it the other night." He wagged a finger. "And don't you go tellin' me 'nothin'."

"Hop Sing have knife."

The lawman's brows arched. "A knife. What kind of knife?"

"Knife from kitchen."

"You mean a _butcher_ knife?" Roy sighed. "Now why ever would you bring along a butcher knife?"

The China man's black eyes were unreadable. "Does not your Good Book say 'an eye for an eye?" he asked.

At first he was gonna balk. Then he thought about Fleet Rowse and what he'd done to Little Joe, driving a knife in the boy's shoulder just for the sick fun of it. Maybe God did have a hand in Hop Sing comin' along. Maybe Fleet Rowse was finally gonna get his comeuppance.

All legal-like, of course.

"Tell you what, Hop Sing," he said as he placed a hand on the other man's shoulder . "You keep that there knife of yours hidden away as back-up, you hear? Let me take 'em on first, but if somethin' happens and I cain't finish what I begun, you got my permission to take it out and use it. Agree?"

Ben's cook nodded. "Hop Sing agree."

He glanced out the window again. The sun was risin', castin' pink-orange fingers across the blue-gray snow. "All right then, let's get goin' – "

Roy stopped. Freckles was lookin' him in the eye, like he was waitin' on him to notice.

"What we do with missy Elizabeth's pony?" Hop Sing asked.

The sheriff eyed the door. It was mighty slim.

"If that girl got him in, we can get him out. We'll take him along.

"After all, the more the merrier."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Atticus Godfrey was on foot, looking at his horse. The animal was standing on three feet instead of four, with the fourth limb raised above the snowy ground. He wasn't a horseman and he really had _no_ idea what it meant other than the fact that the animal could go no farther until something changed.

Closing his eyes, he fought against the wave of desolation that washed over him, threatening to pull him under. Old habits died hard. A few hours ago, he would have seen this development as Divine punishment. Now, he tried to see it as Divine intervention – tried to believe there was some reason his good intentions had been altered.

He had been heading due south, hoping to travel off-road until he came to the area of the Cartwright's ranch house, knowing that was his best chance to rescue the boy. All the while he traveled, he kept one eye out for Rowse and Noyes. They certainly had to know by now the choice he had made. Due to his horse going lame he was going to have to head east instead, on foot, in the hopes of finding the main road. His last and best hope lay in finding someone along the way who could give him a ride. At the pace he would be forced to travel, it would take the better part of a day to reach the house on foot.

Atticus lifted his face toward the heavens. The snow was falling, heavier now, and the wind, rising.

Little Joe didn't have long.

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Adam Cartwright's lips curled up at one end as he looked down at the child seated in front of him. Elizabeth was settled on his saddle and nestled close against his chest. The plucky girl was well-suited to be his little brother's 'older' sister. She _had_ to be exhausted, weary and worn, sleepy, and hungry to boot, and yet she never complained. Every time he asked how she was doing, she said she was 'fine'. Each time he suggested stopping to rest, she shook his curly blonde head and said 'no'. Elizabeth's whole being was focused on one thing and one thing _only_ – finding Little Joe and making sure he was safe.

He only wished she had been ten years older.

Scout was moving at a decent clip, as fast as the weather and the weight of two riders would allow. There'd been more than one time he'd wished he was riding Chubb, since their combined weight would have been a light load compared to his giant-size brother. Still, things were what they were and he had learned long ago that God had them, as his father once said, 'in His pocket.' If he pushed the animal too hard it could cost its life and they _still_ wouldn't have his brother.

At first Elizabeth had been chatty, rambling on about the things she and Joe had done while he'd been away, telling him with excitement about their excursion in the snow. Then she'd grown quiet, and slowly the story of the attempted robbery of their home and Joe's kidnapping had come out. It seemed when Fleet Rowse discovered the safe was empty, he had switched tactics and taken Joe. It probably took less than a minute for the outlaw to realize that taking his brother would net a bigger profit anyhow. The trouble was, none of them had been home to receive a ransom note if it had been sent. That is, no one but Hop Sing.

If the outlaws had set a time limit for the ransom money to be delivered...

Adam shivered.

Elizabeth's small face, swaddled by and nearly hidden in a thick wool scarf and knitted hood, turned up toward him. "Do you need to rest, Mister Adam?"

He swallowed his smile. "I _am_ a bit cold and weary, but I think I can go on for a while yet." He paused. "How about you?"

"I'm fine."

The chuckle escaped this time. "You know, that's what Joe always says. He can be standing there with bruises and cuts all over him, or sniffing back tears, but his answer is always the same. "I'm fine." Adam held her gaze. "And _Joe's_ never 'fine'."

Elizabeth turned and settled back against him again. She was silent a moment. "Being a big brother or sister ain't easy, is it?" she asked, her tone wistful.

"Oh, I don't know. Most of the time it is. Most days it just means being there when they need you and making sure they don't stub their toe. Sometimes, its even fun."

"Fun?"

"You get to be a conspirator. You'll see when Jack gets bigger," he laughed.

"But what about now? What about when...things happen? _Bad_ things?"

Adam drew a breath. "There's a kind of balance to life, Elizabeth. God gives us good things, but He also sends bad things to in order to teach us lessons."

"How's Joe bein' taken by bad men teachin' us a lesson?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

Ah. How did one discuss the finer points of theology with a child?

"Sometimes – more often than I want to admit – I get mad at Joe. Do you ever get mad at Jack?"

She nodded.

"Have you ever wished Jack would just go away?"

The little girl said nothing for a moment. Then she glanced at him. "Have you ever wished Little Joe would go away?"

Adam felt shame rise to color his ears as he answered. "Yes."

She let out a sigh. "Me too."

"The last time I felt that way – and there's been more than one, believe me – Joe wanted a wild horse that I knew he shouldn't have. I told him so. He went behind my back to Pa and got it anyhow."

A black horse was his brother's weakness. This one had been a beauty, but he was one of those wild horses that you somehow knew would never be tamed. Joe had been sure he could do it without getting his neck broken. He'd disagreed.

"So you were mad at him, huh?"

"Mad?" He laughed. "I was furious! We got into an argument, and then a fight. I walked away from the barn bleeding and bruised, not wishing that Joe would just go away, but that he'd never been _born!"_

"So what happened?" she asked.

Adam paused, remembering the moment when Hoss had come running up to the house to get him less than an hour later. Joe had been working the horse. It had thrown him into the fence, knocking him out, and then broken through and disappeared into the night. They never found it.

"What happened? The horse threw Joe off its back and he got hurt and I realized at that moment that he could have been gone. In a second. Gone." He drew a breath. "So you see, even though it was bad for Joe to fall off the horse and get hurt, it taught me something. It taught me how much I loved him and would miss him if something happened."

"So..." Elizabeth began, "Joe bein' taken by the bad men is remindin' us of how much we love him, so we'll remember not to get mad at him so easy?"

That wasn't exactly what he was aiming for, but it was close enough.

"Soooooo," she went on, "maybe if we love little brother a _whole_ bunch and don't never get mad again at him again, when we get Little Joe back, then God will keep him safe 'cause He won't think He needs to teach us nothin' anymore."

A child's logic. Simple and devastating at one and the same time.

"Amen to that," he breathed.

As he spoke, Adam drew Sport to a halt. There was a lone figure walking along the road in front of them, headed south like they were. The man's shoulders were bent and he walked as if almost spent. He was very tall and very thin and...slightly familiar.

"Elizabeth, you said that the reverend who came into town with you on the coach had something to do with Joe being taken, didn't you?"

Her curly head bobbed against his chest. "Mrs. Guthrie said he unlocked a window so the bad men could get in."

He'd met the man and, though their acquaintance had been brief, his mind retained the image of the preacher's very distinct figure.

He was sure it was him on the road in front of them.

A thousand thoughts whirled through his head at once – if it _was_ Godfrey, why was he on the road alone? _Was_ he alone? Maybe Rowse and the other man who traveled with him were watching from the tree line waiting to strike. And why was the reverend walking? Where was his horse? And if he had been with the men who had taken Joe, where was Joe? Did Godfrey know?

Adam sucked in a deep breath and held it.

He _had_ to know.

For a moment, the black-haired man considered leaving Elizabeth behind, but then he realized that might be exactly what the outlaws wanted so that she _too_ could become a hostage against him. Transferring the reins to his left hand, he drew his pistol and leveled it at the lone figure walking slowly through the snow and began to advance.

As they came alongside the reverend, Adam called out, "Godfrey, stop where you are! Turn and face me!"

It took a moment. The reverend's reactions were slow. When Adam saw the condition the man was in and his face, he returned his gun to its holster. Atticus Godfrey was exhausted and his lean face the image of regret and remorse.

"Mister...Mister Cartwright?" he stammered.

Adam dismounted, leaving Elizabeth in the saddle. "Yes. I'm Adam. And you're Atticus Godfrey."

The reverend nodded. Then he sank to his knees, right there, in the middle of the road. "Thank God..."

Adam dropped beside him and took the preacher's shoulders in his hands. Angrily, he shook him. "Where is my brother?! Tell me! Where's Joe? Is he all right?"

Atticus looked up, meeting his fierce gaze without flinching. "Rowse intended to kill your brother, no matter whether the money was paid or not. I couldn't... I _wouldn't_ let that happen. I helped Joe to escape, but he was so weak..." The reverend drew a breath before continuing and then next words he spoke were a knife to Adam's heart. "Little Joe was so weak from fever and blood loss, I was forced to leave him behind in order to seek help. I left him in a shallow depression a mile or so back, covered with everything warm I had. If Joe remains there – and Rowse doesn't find him – he has a chance."

Adam released his grip. The man kneeling before him had helped to kidnap his brother, it was true. But it seemed he had been the one to rescue him as well.

His anger turning quickly to fear, he asked, "Where _is_ Joe?"

The thin man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Do you know where the old Paiute graveyard is?"

Yes, he did. "Joe's there?"

Atticus shook his head. "Not there. There's a cave high above the graveyard. Do you know it?" When he nodded, the man went on. " Rowse was holding Little Joe there, waiting for the ransom money. Your brother and I left it and traveled due south about two hours before he began to grow too weak to continue. That's where he is now."

He looked back the way the reverend had come. "And how long did you say you've been traveling since you _left_ Joe?"

The rail-thin man shook his head. "I can't be sure. Two, maybe three hours."

In good weather a man could cover three or four miles an hour on flat terrain. But it wasn't _good_ weather and Atticus had been on foot, so make that one or one and a half. That put Joe at some one to two miles east of where they were now.

"How far off the road?"

"A quarter, maybe half a mile."

Adam stood and began to pace. He had to find Joe. That meant he needed to take off at top speed _now_. But there was the preacher _and_ Elizabeth to think of. He considered leaving the girl with Atticus, but quickly decided against it. He was headed into the unknown looking for Joe while Atticus was a _known_ danger. Even if he felt he could trust the preacher, Rowse and Noyes might be tracking him. And as far as all of them going, Scout simply couldn't carry three people. It was as simple as that. Still, he hated to abandon the man to a lengthy walk alone through the snow and the cold.

As if reading his mind, the reverend said, "Don't worry about me. Go! Go save your brother."

Adam's lips were tight. "You may well freeze before you reach the house."

The rail-thin man reached out. Taking his offered hand, he rose to his feet. As their gazes locked, a smile touched Atticus' eyes. "I have made my peace with God, Mister Cartwright. What was lost is found, and mostly due to your brother. If I die, I die at peace. I wish I could care for the girl as you go into battle, but she is safer with you," he said as he released his hand. "Go now, both of you, and go with God!"

Adam glanced at Elizabeth where she sat on the horse. It was true, still...

He nodded. "God be with you, reverend."

Atticus did a strange thing then. He grinned.

"For the first time in a long time, Mister Cartwright, I _know_ He is."

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Fleet Rowse knelt on the ground, looking at the signs of his prey's passage that were quickly vanishing in the snow. Someone had fallen, gotten up, and then fallen again. They'd laid there a while in-between. Finally, whoever it was clawed their way up the side of a tree and started walking again.

The outlaw fingered a frozen bead of blood.

It had to be Joe Cartwright.

Rising, Rowse dusted the snow off his knees and then stared in the direction the tracks were leading. The kid was headed south. He probably thought he was on the path to home. What Cartwright didn't seem to realize was that he was about a quarter mile to the west of the main road, while the ranch lay on the east and the way he was goin', he'd most likely pass by it.

If he lived than long.

Returning to his horse, Fleet Rowse mounted. There was still time to salvage the situation. He'd no doubt have either the Cartwright kid or his corpse in hand in the next hour. He'd take him back to Paiute land and see if the ransom had been delivered. If Ben Cartwright was there and demanded to see his son, he'd show him, and then leave the kid behind in the cave either dead from the cold or because he'd killed him. If Noyes had been loyal and was still there, they'd head out together. If not, well, he'd cut his losses and fly. He'd have the money and Ben Cartwright would be on a wild goose chase to the next town. That much money would let him lay low for a long time.

Long enough for the law to forget him even if Cartwright and his remaining sons never did.


	13. Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

"There's someone up there all right," Roy Coffee said as he arrived back at the spot in the frosty underbrush where Hop Sing was waitin'. They were just outside the Paiute graveyard, lookin' up the hill at the entry of a cave set halfway along its side. He'd just returned from checkin' it out. Rowse knew the area from his time with the Indians, so he'd thought the outlaw might have considered makin' it his headquarters.

And he'd be _danged_ if he hadn't!

"You see Little Joe in cave?" the China man asked.

Roy shook his head. "Couldn't see inside. I saw one man come out and look around. From the size of him, I'd say it was the one I saw gettin' off the stage with Elizabeth and that preacher man. Name of Runyon."

"Fat man come with skinny holy man. Help take Little Joe."

Roy glanced at the cave again. Ben's boy _could_ be in there. There was no tellin'. They was just gonna hafta find a way to take a look inside. Before he could suggest a plan, Hop Sing was on his feet and headed for his horse.

"Hop Sing go find number three son now!" he proclaimed.

The lawman caught his companion's arm and pulled him back. Lifting a finger, he wagged it in front of his face. "Now, you just hold onto them there Chinese dragons of yours what are wantin' to take off with you, you hear? We go rushin' in, it could cost the boy his life." Roy scowled. "We gotta be subtle-like."

"Hop Sing be subtle." Ben's cook scowled. "Sneak in quiet. Carry big stick."

Well, that was _something._ At least he wasn't plannin' on takin' that there butcher knife he had.

"Ain't no way, Hop Sing. You and I gotta stick together. One of us needs to distract that man, draw him out of the cave, so the other one can go in."

"Hop Sing go in look for Little Joe?" he asked hopefully.

He was thinkin' that way. They'd sneak up to the cave and he'd make some kind of ruckus to draw whoever was in there outside. He'd make up some excuse to keep them there a few minutes while the China man went inside and looked for Ben's boy.

"You'll have to go in and get out quick," he explained. "If you find Joe, you gotta leave him until we can come up with a plan. There could be three of them – maybe more – all armed to the teeth. We got us one gun and a knife." He shook his head. "Them ain't even odds by anybody's account."

The nod came slowly, but it came at last. "Hop Sing understand. Only hope Little Joe understand as well," he said, his voice full of hurt.

"Now Hop Sing, you gotta understand. Joe's hurt, for one thing. He probably ain't movin' too fast. If you free the boy and the two of you come out of that cave and there's three bad hombres there armed with guns and only me standin' against them..."

The China man nodded. "Hop Sing understand."

Roy looked at him. The man was ready to give his life to save Little Joe. There was somethin' so admirable about that it near made him weep. He laid a hand on the cook's shoulder and then crossed over to Hop Sing's horse. Once there, he opened the pack strapped on the back of the saddle and took out the mean-looking weapon he had concealed there. Crossing back to Hop Sing, he held it out.

"Sheriff Roy want Hop Sing take knife?"

He shrugged. "It ain't exactly that I ' _want_ ' you to take it, but I think you need to." He held the cook's black-eyed gaze. "Now, you listen here, I'm trustin' you with this. Its to defend yourself and Little Joe and maybe cut him loose. No killin', you hear, not unless _absolutely_ necessary."

Hop Sing took the knife and anchored it behind his belt. "Hop Sing understand. Men who kill should not _be_ killed because one believes death will lead to protection of many others."

Roy thought that through and then nodded. "I gotta remember that. That's a mighty fine way to put it."

"Honorable grandfather wise man. Teach Hop Sing much."

The sheriff smiled. "You know, Hop Sing, I ain't particular to the way you and me got to spend some time together, but I sure am glad we did. You're a good man to have at my side."

"Sheriff good man too. Love Cartwrights near as much as Hop Sing."

Roy didn't have an answer to that. For the most part, he tried to steer clear of emotion. Ever since his wife had died, it ran in such a torrent just underneath the surface that he'd had to build a dam of objectivity just to hold it back.

It just wouldn't do for the sheriff of a rough and tumble Wild West town to be teary-eyed all the time.

But he knew – like Hop Sing _knew_ – that the Cartwrights were special. And out of all of them it was that dang foolhardy, headstrong youngest son of Ben's that had wheedled his way into his heart.

"Little Joe's gonna be okay," he said at last.

Hop Sing nodded.

And they were gone.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

For how long he didn't know, all Joe had been able to do was concentrate on puttin' one foot in front of the other. His world had narrowed down to that – to the movement of one pointed boot toe and then the other. He didn't look up. He didn't look around. He only looked down, watching his steps progress, feeling somehow comforted by _that_ fact alone – that his feet _were_ moving and, because of that, _he_ was moving too.

Sadly, it all came to a painful stop when one of his toes hit a snow-covered rock and he fell, and then tumbled down a low rise and rolled onto the frozen surface of the creek at its bottom. And stopping wasn't proving to be a good thing for him 'cause now that he had time to think, he realized just _how_ rotten he felt. He still had those thin woolen blankets wrapped around his lean frame, only now they were as covered with snow as he was and doin' little to warm him. His teeth were chatterin' and he couldn't hold still. But worse, even though bein' cold as the north side of January and shakin' like someone was siftin' him for gold was pretty bad, he could feel a steady heat radiating from his shoulder wound. The last time he'd looked at the cut, it'd grown in size and was wearin' a ring of red. It was seriously infected.

Laying there on his back, with snowflakes settling on his thick eyelashes and kissing his lips, Joe pondered idly which it would be better to die from. Infection or the cold? He decided in the end that freezin' to death was a better choice and if it looked like his fever was gonna go high enough that he'd be screamin' out of his head, he'd just take all his clothes off and lie down in the snow and die.

He could do it now.

If he did it now, it would all be over.

He wouldn't have to try to crawl back up that hill, or walk on frozen feet to the Ponderosa.

He wouldn't have to worry about Fleet Rowse catchin' him anymore, or about what the outlaw would do when he _did_ catch him.

He'd just go to sleep and it would all be over.

Joe closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his heartbeat. It seemed to echo off the hard sheet of ice beneath him. The beat sounded fast and _wrong_ and that meant his fever was rising. All too soon he'd be beyond walking, beyond even getting up to try – beyond _choosing._

It was funny when you were dyin' – or close to it – the things you thought about. Silly things, really, like mama brushing her hair. She always brushed it at night and then braided it. Sometimes she'd let him brush it. He loved to do it 'cause her hair had been like spun gold and soft as the fur on a kitten. His pa would come over while he was doing it and kiss Mama on the nape of her neck. Joe'd kissed her there too. Mama's skin had been soft as her hair and smelled of lavender soap. Adam told him once that lavender represented refinement, grace, and elegance, and was the flower of femininity.

Joe snorted. Adam always did like to use big words. Older brother could have just said it smelled like a girl.

That girl Adam liked when he was little smelled like lavender. Her name was Adelaide. He remembered smellin' her as she walked by and thinking she must have taken a bath with his mama. That was the first time he had ever seen Adam cry. One minute Addie had been standing by the hitchin' rail with big brother and the next, she was gone. Seeing Adam so sad made him sad too. Hoss had found him crying later in the barn and when he told him why, middle brother said they had to do somethin' to cheer older brother up. Being boys, they thought pullin' a joke and makin' him laugh was a good way to do it. Joe'd found Adam on the far side of the house chopping wood. He'd taken older brother's hand and led him to the barn, telling him he wanted to see the horses. When they got there Hoss dumped a big pile of hay on his head and then the two of them started poundin' him. Adam got mad – _really_ mad. Pretty soon he started poundin' back. When they were all covered with cuts and bruises, he sat back and looked at them and shook his head, and then started to laugh and laugh.

Joe sure wished _he_ felt like laughing.

Oh, he knew he had a laugh like a hyena, or maybe a high-spirited girl. There wasn't anything he could do about it. It didn't come from practice or nothin'. It just bubbled up inside him and overflowed like water in a pitcher you weren't paying attention to while you filled it. When he was little – maybe eight or nine – one of the hands had made fun of his laugh and he'd stopped for two whole weeks. His pa'd come up to him one day and asked him what he'd done wrong. Well, that puzzled him. When he asked the older man what he meant, Pa said he had to have done something wrong because he was being punished. 'How are you bein' punished, Pa?' he'd asked him. Pa said 'Joseph, your laughter is a gift and since you're withholding it, something must be wrong. I can't live without your laughter.'

Imagine that. His giggly, girly, silly laugh, a gift.

Joe shifted his shoulder, easing the ache in it. Pa told him then that he and his brothers were gifts too. Gifts from God, and he couldn't live without any of them either. Couldn't live without _him._

Well, if that didn't beat all.

Little Joe Cartwright drew a strengthening breath and rolled over onto his side. A second later he let it out as he sat up and waited for the world to right itself. At this moment he didn't give a damn if he lived or died, but he sure enough didn't want Pa to die, and that meant he needed to get back on his feet and start to put one foot in front of the other again and to do it until he reached home.

Figuring the ice was no place to try standing, Joe pulled his body forward and off of it using his hands. Once he reached the shore he just kept crawling. He'd hunkered his fingers down under the blanket for the most part to keep them from freezing, but now he used them to grab handfuls of the icy underbrush that lined the hill. Slowly, painfully, he worked his way to the top until his head crested above it.

There, in the distance, was a rider. Whoever it was, was coming toward him, riding slow, looking to the left and right and calling out 'Joe! Joe Cartwright!'. He couldn't see the man clearly since he was bundled like a baby in a heavy winter coat, with a thick scarf tied around his face and hat, and warm, leather gloves covering his hands. Still, he knew who it was.

Who else would come out into the middle of a snowstorm looking for him?

Throwing his body forward, Joe reached out toward the ghostlike figure and cried out feebly, "Pa. Pa, I'm here... Pa..."

The horse came to a stop. Boots crunched the frozen grass and then appeared beside his head. After a moment the man crouched and took hold of a handful of his frozen curls and lifted up his head.

"Why if it _ain't_ Joe Cartwright," he breathed, blowing out vapor that quickly dissipated on the wind.

Confused, Joe tried again. "Pa? Am I home, Pa...?"

The fingers tightened in his hair as the cold icy nose of a revolver was applied to his temple.

"Sure you're home, kid. You're in _my_ home," the man sneered.

"Welcome to Hell."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It had already been a long hard ride and they were still hours away from home. Ben Cartwright pitched his hat lower to stave off the biting wind and ducked his head as a particularly strong gust struck him where he sat on Buck's back. The snow it blew with it had a bite now. The temperature must be hovering between freezing and a degree or two above. All in all it was simply miserable and he would have given anything to be home sitting in his chair in the great room by the hearth, surrounded by his sons and sipping a brandy.

Glancing at his middle boy, who rode by his side, Ben knew Hoss felt the same. No one in their right mind would be out in this. It was a mark of Hoss' devotion that he continued on in spite of weather that would have made most anyone else pitch a camp, light a fire, and settle in for the duration.

After all, they didn't _really_ know anything was wrong.

Beside him, his son checked his horse and then sat up in the saddle, listening.

"What is it?" Ben asked as he did the same. "Did you hear something?"

"I ain't sure, Pa." The big man sat back down. "Might of been my imagination. I thought I heard a couple of horses whinnying."

Ben patted his horse's neck and gave him an encouraging word. The animal was uneasy and ready to move on. The buckskin's answering snort made him smile. Buck was probably as cold and miserable as he was!

After listening a few seconds, he said, "I don't hear anything."

"Me neither." Hoss frowned. "But I sure do think I did before." He eyed the trees to the right of the road. "You think we ought to check it out?"

"We're near one of the line shacks, aren't we?" the older man asked. Ben thought he recognized the area. Farther along the road somewhere – probably visible from here on another day – was a tall stacks of rocks that marked the trail to the shack. The natural tower lay to the east of the road, while the sound had come from the west.

"It's a mile or so to the shack yet," Hoss answered. "If I was Adam or Joe and I was out in this, I'd sure enough head there."

"But the sound came from the opposite side?"

The big man nodded. "Yes, sir."

Ben shifted in his seat and drew his collar up, dislodging small chips of ice and snowflakes as he did. "It will only take a short time to check it out. I don't think we dare risk going on without doing so. Even if its not one of your brothers, whoever it is might need our help."

"I 'spect you're right."

As he turned Buck's nose west, the older man heard it too. Only this time the distant horse squealed, indicating someone was attempting to get it to do something it _didn't_ want to do.

"Sounds pretty far away this time."

Hoss was working to calm Chubb who had been upset by the animal's cry. "Not so far away, Pa. I think its just up in the hills," he said as he shifted his grip. "You know that old cave is up there. The one Joe and me used to play in while you'd was visitin' with whoever was working out of the shack."

He had a vision of it, though he'd spent little time there. The longest he had been in that cave was the time it took to pull his young sons out of it. As boys he had a hard time convincing them that such caves were rarely unoccupied.

The same might prove true now.

"A cave would be a good place to get out of the cold," he said at last.

His son grinned. "Just what I was thinkin', Pa."

"Let's – "

Ben pulled up short.

There had been a shot.

Hoss nodded even before he could ask if he had heard it.

Seconds later, they both moved into the trees.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy had taken out Noyes Runyon's gun at the last second. Danged if that city feller's fancy little cut-down pistol with a snub nose hadn't made enough noise to wake the dead, goin' off like it did _inside_ the cave! He glanced at Hop Sing who was holding the man at bay with the kitchen knife to his throat. Noyes had almost got the China man.

It had been close.

They'd come up slow and easy on the cave 'cause about a half-mile out they'd heard horses nickerin' and snortin'. Hop Sing knew the best way to reach it unseen. He said Ben had sent him up here to find Hoss and Joe one time when they'd been visitin' the ranch hand workin' the line. When the boys failed to listen to him, he'd done gone back to their pa and he guessed the fireworks that had gone off that day rivaled anythin' the Fourth of July could deliver. Just as they'd arrived, a man had stepped out – a big fat man wearin' a suit. It was Runyon, of course. He stood for a minute lookin' south, and then went back inside.

At that point it'd been all he could do to hold Hop Sing back in spite of what they'd agreed to earlier. Finally, he convinced the China man by remindin' him that they had to take it _real_ slow so's nothin' happened to Little Joe if he _was_ inside. They'd mounted the hill by the cook's back way and then stood one to each side of the entryway of the cave, listenin'. The echoes made it hard to be sure, but he thought from the sound that only Runyon was inside. Even so, he decided to stick with the first plan with only one variation – it'd be Hop Sing who would draw the man out, so's he could take him the minute he did.

Movin' into position, he'd signaled Hop Sing and waited.

It took a minute but Noyes finally came out. Still, like he sensed somethin', the businessman stayed just within the cave. He and Hop Sing talked a while and then that fool China man followed him inside like he was one of them fearless dragons he was always talkin' about! Roy knew it wouldn't take long – and it didn't. Within two minutes they was hollerin' at each other. Throwin' caution to the wind, he'd stepped into the cave only to find Ben's cook backed up against the wall and Runyon pullin' his sorry excuse for a pistol out of his inner coat pocket.

Noyes looked mean as a rattler gone too long without his supper.

He'd had his own gun in his hand as he entered. The two men was awful close, but he thought he had a clear shot. The lawman watched amazement dawn on the China man's face as the bullet whizzed close by his chin and took Noyes in the hand, throwing that there little pistol of his wide and makin' him let loose his grip. Hop Sing had his knife out in seconds and had switched places, backing the city slicker up against the cave wall before he had time to make it all the way inside.

Maybe keepin' him as a deputy would be a right smart idea.

"Let me go, you Oriental miscreant!" Noyes Runyon snarled. "If you so much as nick my skin with that cleaver, I'll have my lawyer take you and your employer for every cent you have!"

Roy loped over and sized him up. Runyon's face was livid, pert near as red as a blistered backside. He was sweatin' like pig iron and tremblin' to boot.

"Now, you see here, Mister Runyon," Roy drawled. "Hop Sing's been duly sworn in and deputized. Now, I'll agree, a kitchen knife ain't the usual weapon of choice for a lawman, but it's all nice and legal-like, if you take my meanin'."

"Says the country bumpkin!" the fat man snorted.

Roy pursed his lips and shook his head. "Looks like this here country bumpkin and Oriental miscreant got the upper hand on you mighty fast. And afore you try to tell us you done nothin' wrong, we got three eye-ball witnesses says you did – Hop Sing here bein' one of them." He paused for effect. "You know what the penalty is for attempted robbery, kidnappin' a boy, and attempted murder here in Nevada?"

Noyes Runyon's jaw went tight. His lips might of said nothing, but his eyes weren't as good at keepin' quiet.

"This is how I see it, Noyes," he said, using the man's first name. "You can either be one of three tried for all those crimes – and maybe the _only_ one if we don't catch that preacher man or Fleet Rowse – or you can be the one who falls on the mercy of the court 'cause he done helped the law rescue Little Joe Cartwright."

Noyes wouldn't meet his gaze and that sent a chill through him had nothing to do with the temperature.

Hop Sing saw it to and his pressed the knife into one of the fleshy rolls under the fat man's chin. "What you do to Little Joe?!" he demanded.

Roy let him go. He didn't think the China man would kill Runyon and puttin' the scare into him just might help.

"I did nothing!" the man snarled. "It was Rowse! First he stabbed the boy and then he did nothing to care for the wound, so it festered." Runyon drew a breath. "Atticus betrayed us and freed the boy. They took off together several hours ago. Fleet went after them." Roy saw his eyes go to Hop Sing; watched Runyon brace himself. "I doubt he's alive by now."

"Lord Almighty," Roy breathed out in a prayer.

Hop Sing was looking at him. "We need go look for Little Joe. Leave man alone here to freeze!"

It was temptin', he had to admit it.

The lawman shook his head. "'Fraid we cain't do that, Hop Sing. Say Fleet Rowse finds Joe and brings him back here? We cain't take a chance on missin' him."

"Cannot stay here when Little Joe out in snow, maybe dying!" he protested.

"I told you the boy's already dead," Runyon growled.

"You just shut your yap. Ain't no one interested in your opinion!" he snapped. A second later, the lawman added, "The way I see it, Noyes, you're under arrest for attempted murder, and that means you ain't got any right to an opinion until you got yourself a lawyer." Roy removed the scarf from his neck and wrapped it around the businessman's mouth, silencing him. "Take him to the back, Hop Sing, and tie him up tight."

The China man was smilin'. "Hop Sing tie up bad man like Sunday roast. He not get away."

Roy was about to answer when he heard a noise. It was small and hardly there at all, but he recognized it.

Someone was sneakin' up on the cave.

After signaling Hop Sing to keep goin', the lawman moved forward. Roy hugged the shadows, moving with caution, ready for anything.

The figure of a man dressed in a heavy coat with pistol drawn appeared suddenly, framed by the cave maw. It was quickly followed by another – a great big man with a rifle in his hand, wearin' a ten gallon hat.

Roy Coffee let out one _big_ sigh of relief.

It was Ben and Hoss Cartwright.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright stood outside of the cave, staring off toward the south, willing his vision to penetrate the snow and the ice and the growing dark. His son, Joseph, was out there somewhere ill, perhaps freezing to death.

Perhaps already dead.

It had been a pleasant surprise at first to find Roy Coffee in the cave. He had no idea what the lawman would be doing out in the snow, but assumed it had something to do with him being sheriff. Then he had seen Hop Sing and the world had tilted sideways. Hoss' strong grip on his elbow had steadied him until the wave of disbelief turned to one of slowly mounting terror. There was no reason for Hop Sing to be here unless something had happened to Joe – something that involved the law and the man trussed up in the back of the cave. When he asked what had happened Roy had turned to Hop Sing.

The man from China couldn't look at him.

Slowly the horrific tale had unraveled. The man they had welcomed into their home, Atticus Godfrey, was working with the outlaw Fleet Rowse and another man. Atticus had let Rowse in so he could steal the payroll money, and when the outlaw found out there was nothing in the safe, he had kidnapped Joseph. A ransom note had been received the next day instructing him – Ben Cartwright – to take ten thousand dollars to the Paiute graveyard. It was to have been delivered by dawn – at least eight hours ago – or Joseph would be...killed. Thankfully, the threat had not been carried out.

Atticus Godfrey had helped Joseph escape.

God alone knew why. Perhaps the man had a change of heart, or maybe he'd been pretending all along, but for whatever reason the reverend had freed Little Joe and gone along with him, disappearing into the snow and the cold. Godfrey was a slender reed of a man, not very strong or powerful. Joseph, from what he understood, was wounded as well as worn. In ideal circumstances it would have been hard for the pair to make the Ponderosa. And the circumstances here were far from ideal.

Noyes told them. An hour or two later, Fleet Rowse had set out to find them.

Ben closed his eyes against the gulf of premature grief that opened before him. He'd been in this place before – with Adam _and_ with Joe, where they'd been held captive – and both had survived. The older man's near-black eyes flicked to the surrounding wilderness. But never like this. Never in the midst of an untimely winter that had struck the land with killing force.

Never with Joseph being pursued by a madman.

He felt his middle son come up behind him before he spoke. Hop Sing followed close behind. "Pa?"

Ben turned. "Yes, Hoss?"

"We're about ready to go."

It had been decided that Roy would remain behind with Noyes Runyon, both to keep track of the outlaw and to be there in case Rowse returned with Joseph. He, Hoss, and Hop Sing were going to head south in search of Joe and Atticus. He'd hesitated to leave Roy alone, but found he couldn't leave the man from China behind. Hop Sing still would not look him in the eye. He felt a personal responsibility for what happened and it was killing him.

'Mistah Ben leave Hop Sing in charge,' he had said. 'Hop Sing fail Little Joe. Fail father and brothers. Hop Sing no deserve to live.'

No amount of arguing could change his mind. In the end the best thing he could think of was to let Hop Sing help in the search for Joe and hope that his cook and friend could find some peace in the resolution of their current dilemma.

God willing it was the one they desired.

"Good," he responded. "Your...brother needs us."

The slight hesitation made Hoss ask, "You still worried about Adam too?"

Roy had told them about the note. While he was glad to find his eldest son was also on the hunt for Joseph, he was astonished to know that Elizabeth Carnaby was with him.

She was one _amazing_ girl!

Ben drew a breath and held it a moment before letting it out in a cloud of white. "I just can't shake that dream, son. The image of your brothers laying together, slowly being buried in snow."

His own pain was reflected in his son's sky-blue eyes. "I'd wager that intuition of yours, Pa, against a hand held by the best card sharp in Virginia City. If you say they're both in trouble, then I ain't doubtin' you."

 _Intuition._ Was that what it was? Webster's called that 'the power or faculty of attaining to direct knowledge or cognition without evident rational thought and inference.' Direct knowledge. Yes, it was that. Direct knowledge of the _heart._ His boys were bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. They were a part of him, and when a part of him was threatened or in danger, he knew it.

As he knew it now.

He called it God-given insight.

"Mistah Ben, Mistah Hoss, horses ready," Hop Sing said, his voice a bare whisper above the whistling wind.

The older man turned toward the man people called his 'cook', who was in reality his friend, confidant, and advisor, as well as a surrogate parent to his children. Walking over to him, Ben placed a hand on his shoulder. He refused to lift it until the man from China looked up.

"This is not your fault," Ben said, repeating again the words he had spoken a dozen times that day. "It is the fault of a madman whose lust for easy money and desire to bring pain will drive him to any lengths."

Hop Sing hung his head. "Should not have been walking outside," he answered quietly, "looking at stars while bad men come in house and hurt Little Joe."

"And I shouldn't have been riding to a round-up when my home was overrun." He paused. "Hop Sing, neither of us had any way of knowing what was about to happen. We're neither seers nor sages."

His friend lifted his head. His black eyes shining. "Mistah Ben try make Hop Sing feel better." Hop Sing struck his chest with his fist. "No can feel better while heart is broken."

Ben choked back tears.

 _No can feel better while heart is broken._

Finding Joseph and Adam alive and well was the only way _any_ of them would mend.


	14. Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

Pain.

Pain and cold.

Cold and... _pain._

Such were the boundaries of Joe Cartwright's world.

Joe sucked in a blast of icy air as the toe of Fleet Rowse's boot made contact with his ribs again. After finding him, the outlaw had lifted him up bodily and slung him over the saddle in front of him and started to ride. Every step the horse took was torture. The only good thing about the position he was in, where his inflamed shoulder struck the leather saddle each time the horse's foot contacted the frozen earth, was that it kept him awake.

Awake and thinking.

He knew what awaited him at the end of the journey. No matter what, Rowse would kill him. The only reason the outlaw was keeping him alive was to show him as living proof to his pa so he could get the ransom. A man like Rowse wouldn't hesitate to break his word. He'd shoot him on the spot and run, or take off with him and abandon him somewhere along the way where he would die alone. Of course, escaping meant he might face that same thing – dying with no one there – but it would on his _own_ terms.

Somehow that made the thought of it...well...tolerable, at least.

As they moved along and the afternoon passed toward evening, the outlaw's head began to nod. Rowse had been on the run for days without sleep and it was finally catchin' up to him. Joe felt the grip on his belt loosen and the reins fall slack against his back. He waited until the horse had drawn to a stop and then eased himself backward until the half of him that hung right of the saddle outweighed the half hanging to the left.

Joe slid off, caught his breath, and was up and running in ten seconds.

Rowse was after him in thirty.

At first he thought God was _surely_ with him as he began to outdistance the outlaw. Slippin' and slidin', he headed away from the setting sun, knowing that direction was toward the open road. If he could just find somebody – some fool out travelin' in a storm – he could yell for help. While a stranger might not believe him, they'd have no reason to believe Rowse either. They'd hold them both, take them back to town to Roy.

Or if he was lucky, home to whoever was there.

Then, it happened. His feet hit a crusted-over spot on the bank of a creek that was partially thawed and he fell face forward into the icy water with a cry. Joe managed to struggle back up out of it, but when he turned, it was to find Rowse standin' there, staring at him, looking mean as a snake. The outlaw grabbed him by the collar and drug him over to his horse and threw him to the ground at its feet. Then he bent down and pressed the nose of his gun into the mass of his matted curls.

"I should kill you now, Cartwright. The money ain't worth the fuss!" he hissed.

Joe knew he shouldn't say it.

He did anyhow.

"Then why _don't_ you?" he growled between chattering teeth. "You're gonna kill me later anyway!"

After all, a bullet would be quicker than freezing to death or dying alone, raving from a fever.

Rowse stared at him. Slowly, the outlaw's finger retreated from the trigger. He sneered.

"Because, Cartwright, you _want_ it so much!"

And then Rowse began to kick him again.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was seldom Adam Cartwright didn't know what to do. 'Think, plan, execute' were the watch words of his well-ordered life.

 _Now_ was one of those times where 'order' was _only_ a word.

Adam shielded Elizabeth Carnaby with his body in an attempt to keep her from witnessing evil at its finest. He could feel the little girl pressed up against the back of his legs; her fingers clutching the cloth. Felt it each time she winced and a tremor ran the length of her small body.

Each wince occasioned by one of Little Joe's screams.

They'd been heading north toward the cave. He'd decided at the last minute to cut a bit west to save some time. As they traveled, a few animals had run past as if fleeing something. Adam licked his lips and sighted along his gun, aiming for the man who was standing above his brother's curled-up form, kicking him in the side as Joe cried out. He really didn't want to kill a man in front of Elizabeth, but the way things were going it seemed he was going to have little choice. If he didn't do something soon, Rowse could inflict permanent damage.

If he hadn't already done so.

Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, the outlaw dropped to his knees beside Joe. Adam watched as Rowse took hold of his brother's curly hair and lifted him up. A second later he scooted in behind Joe and began to lift him.

He'd missed his chance.

"Damn!"

"Are you gonna kill the bad man?" a small voice squeaked from behind him.

"I don't want to," he answered, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. The outlaw was carrying Joe, who was limp in his arms, toward his horse. "But I may have no choice. If Rowse gets away with Little Joe..."

"You..you can leave me if you gotta," the girl said.

Adam glanced at her. The child was remarkable! She'd shown significant courage months before when she helped his brother. Now here she was, doing it again by offering to remain behind alone in the snow while he went to help Joe. Adam turned to Scout. His faithful horse stood nearby. If he mounted and flew after Rowse, he was sure he could overcome him and rescue his brother. But not with Elizabeth riding in front of him.

"I don't want to do that," he admitted between gritted teeth.

Rowse had Joe in place before him. His arm was around Joe's middle and he was getting ready to ride.

The black-haired man felt Elizabeth's fingers release his pants legs. "Go on!" she ordered, her whisper fierce as the night. "You go _save_ little brother! I'll be fine!"

No, she wouldn't. But he was quickly coming to realize there was really little choice.

"You won't move?" he asked. "You'll stay right where you are? Promise?"

The little girl crossed her heart. "Hope to die."

He winced at that. Then, to lighten the moment as much for himself as her, Adam asked, "You don't have your fingers crossed behind your back like Little Joe always does, do you?"

Elizabeth showed him both hands. "No, sir."

Rowse was nudging his skittish horse with his knees, readying to move.

Adam's hazel eyes bored into her. "You stay right here until I come back. You hear me? Elizabeth, don't move for _anything._ If you do, I might never find you again. _"_

The child's jaw clenched. She straightened her spine and nodded.

A second later Adam Cartwright was on his horse speeding after Little Joe and the man who had taken him.

Unfortunately the ground was irregular, covered as it was with ice and crusted snow. Unfortunately, as well, Fleet Rowse became aware of him all too quickly since there was no way to mask the sound of his approach. The outlaw threw a sharp look at him – one that could easily have killed – and then put his heels to his horse's side and began to pull away.

Adam had his gun in his hand. He hesitated to use it for fear the shot would spook Rowse's horse and the animal might stumble and fall, crushing Joe. But then, what choice did he have? If Rowse got away with his brother, Joe would be as disposable to the villain as trash.

In spite of the freezing temperatures, sweat dripped into Adam's eyes as he rode. It was hard to take aim on a running horse anyhow, and that made it worse. As Rowse disappeared into a puff of snow and then reappeared again, the black-haired man _still_ hesitated. Even if the horse didn't stumble, he might hit Joe instead of Rowse or the bullet might pass _through_ Rowse and into Joe.

And yet...he was going to lose Little Joe if he didn't do something and do it soon!

Sending a prayer heavenward that his aim would be true, Adam aimed and pulled the trigger. Rowse jerked forward.

Time slowed.

Fleet Rowse straightened up.

He took hold of Joe.

The outlaw twisted in the saddle to look at him and then, grunting, cast his brother off.

Joe fell.

His little brother hit the ground and rolled.

Over and over Little Joe rolled until he disappeared, falling into the ravine and the pit of darkness below.

Finally, Rowse met his horrified stare, his own Devil's face filled with obscene delight.

As time sped up again, Adam reined in Scout. He stared at the darkness to his left for several long heartbeats and then turned back to look at Rowse. The outlaw had paused several yards away. The villain sat there unmoving, looking like a ghoul. He wanted to go after him. Oh God, how much he wanted to go after that outlaw! But, in the end, he couldn't do it.

It was Joe who mattered. Joe who – wounded, most likely fevered and sick – was laying at the bottom of the ravine buried in snow

Adam dismounted and ran to the edge and peered down. Below was a sea of blue shadows. As he dropped to his knees, searching it with his eyes, he had two thoughts.

One, it was a _long_ way down. Joe might already be dead.

Two, he was _incredibly_ stupid.

Rowse probably had a gun.

Even as the sound of the shot reverberated through the late afternoon air Adam reacted, throwing himself over the edge and into the ravine after his brother. As he did, he felt something red-hot sear his flesh. Pain exploded as he slid down the snow-covered bank and rolled to a stop.

On top of Joe.

"Damn!" Adam whispered as a shaking hand went to his wounded side.

And then everything went black.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Elizabeth Carnaby stood still as the snow fell around her and the howling wind took hold of it and swept it away. She hugged her arms around her trembling body and wondered what she should do. Mister Adam had said to stay put 'til he came back so he could find her, but he hadn't told her what to do if he didn't _come_ back. It was hard to tell time out here, but she knew he'd been gone too long. If Adam'd caught the bad man and got Little Joe, they would have been back by now. Besides, she'd heard a gun shot and that couldn't be good. She knew the sound from when her pa had taken her hunting. There was a click and a flash of light and smoke and a boom, all at one and the same time.

And then silence.

The little girl looked down. Scout's tracks were visible in the snow. It was late and getting dark, but she could _still_ see them. If she waited any longer she wouldn't be able to and then she'd have to stay right where she was until someone found her. She didn't know all that much about how long a person could stay out in the snow, but she thought overnight was probably pushin' it.

Coming to a decision, Elizabeth began to walk.

As she did, the little girl thought back over the things her pa had told her that time they'd gone huntin' in the winter. Ma never liked it when he took her huntin', but Pa insisted she learn. He said if somethin' ever happened to him – especially when it was cold and they couldn't expect help from anybody else – someone needed to know how to bring home meat for the table. With her bein' the oldest and Ma bein' so busy with Jack, it fell to her.

Elizabeth snickered. She couldn't help it. The image in her mind of her little brother Jack wearin a diaper and holdin' a rifle was awful funny.

She and her pa had been trackin' a deer. They'd walked for hours. She'd been awful cold by the time they stopped to make a camp and said so. While they ate their food and drank warmed cider, Pa had told her what to do if she was ever caught out in the snow by herself. 'Find shelter', he said. 'Build a fire. Melt some snow and drink it, and then hunker down and wait.' Pa'd explained that wanderin' around didn't do a person a lot of good 'cause when people came lookin', they'd find the place you'd been but might not find the place you _were._

The snow was knee-deep to her, which meant it was probably shin-high to Mister Adam. The wind had pushed it around so much it had left places that were clear, and other places where it was piled near high as her waist. Elizabeth shivered and let out a sigh. She liked snow, or at least she always had before. She liked it when she was all wrapped up in a blanket and warm in her house and she could sit and look out the window and watch it falling. She liked it too when she and Jack went into the front yard to make snow angels. It looked so pretty, sparklin' like stars in the sky. Turning her eyes on the vast expanse of white before her, she shook her head. The snow didn't look so pretty now.

It just looked, well...unfriendly.

A minute or two later the little girl came to a place where the snow was all messed it. There were a lot of boot and hoof prints, and it looked all churned up like there'd been some kind of a fight. As she stared at the ground, wonderin' what it all meant, she heard a sound. A soft sound, kind of like a horse snortin'. Turning, she saw Scout. She'd missed him because he was standin' in shadows, masked by fallin' snow. Quickly turning in every direction, she looked for Adam.

She couldn't find him.

Growing frightened, she called out, "Adam! Mister Adam! Are you here?"

For a moment there was nothing but the wind. Then she heard a voice. It sounded like Adam, but he wasn't talkin' to her. He kept callin', ' _Joe!'_ , over and over again.

The voice was comin' from the shadows to her left.

She'd been lookin' at the ravine as she walked. Trees paraded down its side, getting smaller and smaller as they went, looking like the white capped toy soldiers Uncle Pete had given Jack marchin' off to war. Dropping to her knees where the snow was all stirred up, Elizabeth crawled forward and looked over the edge. There was a sea of blue shadows in front of her; blue shadows with rocks and the tips of some of those snow-covered trees poking out. Not really knowing what else to do, she cupped her gloved hands around her mouth and hollered even as the cry of 'Joe' went up again toward Heaven.

"Mister Adam, is that you?"

Her voice echoed. She waited and then tried again. At first there was nothin'.

Then...

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, is...that...you?"

She was worried he'd be mad, so she said, "Yes, sir."

"Good...girl. Thanks." There was a pause. "Do you see Scout?"

Adam's voice was awful quiet. It was hard to hear him.

She called back, "Yes."

"I..." Big brother stopped, coughed, and then started again. "Elizabeth, I need you to...be brave. Take Scout. Find the road. Go home." After another longer pause, he added. "Get help."

Elizabeth was leanin' over the edge, probably farther than she should have been, looking down, trying to find him.

"Did you find little brother?" she yelled.

Again, a pause. "Yes. Joe's here... He's alive."

She thought maybe – just _maybe_ – she could see the two of them. At least there were two dark spots at the bottom of the ravine that didn't look like bushes or rocks.

"I can't leave you here!" she shouted back.

"Bring someone. Mark...your path well so...you can find us...again. Hurry! Joe's...bad off. He's..."

The night went silent.

"Mister Adam! Hey, Mister Adam! _"_

The wind howled in response, kicking snow into her face, but Adam made no reply.

Elizabeth waited a few seconds and then stood up. She figured Adam must have gone to sleep or passed out. Standing there, with the cold wind whipping her hair and biting her cheeks, she considered what she should do. They'd left that note in the shack on Freckles' collar for Sheriff Roy and Hop Sing to find. They were _sure_ to have followed her and, if they'd headed for the cave like the note told them to, findin' them would be faster than goin' back to the Ponderosa. The little girl looked again at the blue shadow sea. Mister Adam didn't sound so good and he'd said Joe was bad off. She didn't know how much time they had, but she was sure it wasn't much. They needed help and they needed it _now._ Her Pa'd told her that a man could freeze within a couple of hours if he was really tired or injured in some other way. Little brother was hurt, sure enough, and she was pretty sure _big_ brother was too.

There had been that shot...

Edging a little farther over, she called down, not knowing if anyone heard her. "I'm gonna go get Sheriff Roy and Hop Sing! You hang on! I'll bring back help, I promise. Mister Adam, do you hear me?!"

Elizabeth waited several heartbeats and then hung her head and turned away. Crossing to Scout, she took the nervous animal's reins in one hand and, while petting his nose with the other, started to speak real soft and slow to him.

"Mister Adam's hurt, Scout. Him _and_ little brother. Now, I know you don't know me much, but I'm askin' you to help me help them." Her blue eyes held the horse's moist black eyes. "You gotta help!"

Scout blew air out of his nose and gently nuzzled her cheek, as if to say, ' _It's okay. I know you're a friend.'_

Encouraged, she grinned. "I'm gonna get on your back, okay?," she asked, still holding his gaze. "We need to go find Sheriff Roy and Hop Sing. We gotta bring them back here."

The horse struck the ground with its hoof and nickered. It kind of seemed like he was tellin' her to stop talkin' and hurry up.

Elizabeth put her foot in the stirrup and mounted Mister Adam's big horse. With a prayer on her lips, she turned Scout's nose north. Then, with one last glance at the ravine, she started to ride, leaving her two best friends in that big old sea of cold blue shadows.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The world about him was hushed; silent except for the howl of the unending wind and the sound of someone drumming far away.

Curious, Joe Cartwright opened his eyes.

He shivered, but even as he did, realized he was not as cold as he'd been before, which was kind of strange. He _was_ laying on snow-covered ground after all. When he shifted his gaze and looked down, he saw that he was still wearin' the thin blankets the outlaws had wrapped 'round him the day before, but there was something else on top of them. Whatever it was, it was heavy. The weight was pressing down on his chest and making it hard for him to breath. Joe's thick eyebrows met in the middle as he frowned and considered what it might be.

Thick. Gold in color. Kind of lumpy.

There was something else too – something round and black. Joe scrunched up his nose as he considered it.

A hat. It was a hat!

Now, what the heck was a _hat_ doin' layin' in the middle of his chest?

Joe blinked as best he could, breaking the crust of ice that coated his eyelashes, and looked again. The hat reminded him of the one his oldest brother wore. It had the same kind of band. While he was still puzzlin' it out, he heard something. It sounded like someone breathing low and slow. Come to think of it, that drumming he'd heard earlier? He could _feel_ it as well. It was someone's steady heartbeat echoin' through his thin frame.

Someone was laying on top of him. That's why he felt warm.

He wanted to take a look, but it was hard to move. It wasn't just that he was near froze solid. He hurt like heck from head to toe. Still, with effort, Joe managed to shift his right arm so he could touch the hat, and then the thick, well-oiled wavy hair beneath it.

"Adam?" he said, his voice a hoarse croak. "...Adam?"

"Nnnhhh... What...?"

Not quite an answer, but it would do.

As he let his hand flop back to the cold earth, Joe asked, "Ain't you...got...better things to do...than takin'...a nap with me at...the...bottom of a hill...older brother?"

Adam stirred and lifted his head. His eyes focused and he studied him for a moment. Then, he grinned. "Love _is_...insanity," Adam answered. "The...Greeks knew it."

With his brother's warmth missing, Joe felt suddenly cold. He shivered uncontrollably. "They got snow...in Greece?" he asked through chattering teeth.

Older brother snorted. "It's rare as you are, Joe." Adam grunted as he sat up and moved to sit beside him. A moment later his hand snaked out and landed on his forehead. His brother cursed and then said, "You're burning up, Joe."

He managed a smile – a really weak one.

"Shame...I can't...feel it."

Adam's fingers moved to his hair. They lingered there a moment and then his brother caressed his curls, cooing as he'd done when he was little and sick. "You're gonna be all right Joe. I'm here now."

Adam was here. He wasn't gonna die alone.

At that thought something broke in him. He'd had to stay strong – had to fight to survive on his own. Adam was here now. He didn't need to fight anymore.

He could sleep.

"Joe. Joe!" His brother's voice was insistent – and irritating. "Joe! Stay awake! Come on."

He didn't want to. He hurt like the Devil and he was _so_ tired. He didn't need to stay awake. What he needed to do was _sleep._

Adam's palm striking his cheek put a end to that.

Joe didn't have much fight left in him, but what he had he gave to his brother, taking hold of Adam's gloved hand and shoving it away.

"What'd you...go and do...that for?" he growled. "I've been...knifed...and kicked...in the ribs...and _tossed_ away like...a sack of...bad potatoes! Can't..a feller...sleep?"

Adam's voice was soft. Like Pa's.

Pa.

"No, Joe," his brother said, his voice stern. "I'm sorry. You can't." He heard Adam suck in air. A moment later, he said, his voice shaking, "I have to get you up. We need to look for shelter."

It took a minute.

Maybe two.

Joe thought hard. He remembered Adam's heartbeat had been strong in his ear, but that his brother's breathing had sounded funny. All thin and reedy. He glanced at him and noticed the thin sheen of sweat on his haggard face.

"Are...you hurt?" Joe asked between shivers.

"It's nothing," Adam said as he bent over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Come on. See if you can sit up," he coached.

Joe shook his head feebly as he pushed him away even _more_ feebly. "Not 'til...you tell me...what's wrong."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Like you have a choice. I could pick you up and carry you."

"Then...why don't you?" he countered sharply. After drawing a breath against the pain, Joe managed to add, "Come...on, Adam, I'm not some...kid...you have to baby."

"Joe, I..." His brother sighed. "Okay, Rowse got off a shot. The bullet took me in the side. It's nothing."

His eyes went to his brother's shirt. It was dark, but Adam's coat was fairly light.

Or should have been.

"You're...bleedin'."

"Always one to state the obvious, aren't you?" his brother snarled. "You know flesh wounds. They bleed tremendously. It doesn't mean anything."

"Means you're hurt."

Joe met his brother's gaze. It was settled somewhere between fear and grief. Older brother just didn't look like _that_.

The fact that he did now scared him.

Adam ran a hand over his eyes before speaking. "Joe. Look. Yes, I'm hurt, but I'm not dying. You have to think about your own survival!"

The words were out before he could stop them. Joe could see that his brother _instantly_ regretted them. "Joe, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

Joe was kind of surprised that he _was_ surprised. After all, he sorta knew he was dying. Maybe it was just that he hadn't admitted it yet. His shoulder wound was screaming and he was freezing cold, even though the snowflakes were meltin' on his skin. The world around him looked kind of like the water in that painting of the sailin' ship he had on his wall, washy and uncertain. And all the time he felt delirium lick at the edge of his senses.

His fingers gripped his brother's coat sleeve. He needed to reassure him. "It's...all right, Adam..."

"No, it isn't!" his brother exploded. "It is _not_ 'all right!' Joe, I have to get you somewhere warm, somewhere safe..." Adam's voice broke. "God, Joe, don't die on me..."

He managed a little smile. It took almost all of his remaining energy, but he knew it would help Adam with what was coming.

"It's okay...big brother. Really. The only...thing I was..scared of was..." Joe sucked in air as a wave of pain struck him like a pail of ice water. "...was dyin' alone."

Whatever sound Adam made, he didn't like it.

"Hold on, Joe," he said a second later. "Atticus went for help. Pa will find us. I promise."

Joe thought that part about Atticus was funny. The preacher wouldn't be here lookin' for him. He was on his way to the ranch house. Still, that didn't matter. Adam had said the magic word.

Pa.

 _Pa_ was on his way.

He could see the older man now, talkin' to middle brother, tellin' him 'everything will be all right'. Pa was always makin' promises he couldn't keep and that was one of them. He'd make it even though he knew things weren't right and might never be right again. But then Pa wasn't thinking of things bein' 'all right' in _this_ world. He was thinkin' of the next one. The Good Book said, ' _And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.'_ His pa believed that, and he'd kept on believin' it even at the grave side of three wives.

He'd believe it too at the graveside of one son.

Joe's fingers explored the soft wide wale of his brother's corduroy coat. He tugged at the fabric and managed another feebler grin as Adam looked down at him.

"It's okay...older brother. Everything will...be all..right..."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe had lost the battle. His little brother was unconscious.

Adam shivered more from fear than from the cold as Joe's grip slackened and his hand fell away. He caught it and then, using what strength he had, pulled his brother's silent form into his arms and hugged him like a bear, lending him what warmth he had. He'd give it all to him if he could have. But God hadn't made man that way. No matter how much you wanted to die so someone else would live, it just didn't work that way. _You_ had to survive too.

Or survive the loss.

His little brother had lost weight since he'd seen him last. He could tell by the elbow bone sticking into his chest and by how gaunt Joe's cheeks appeared. His brother was poorly dressed for being out in the cold. The clothes were okay, but there was little underneath. The coat he had on was one meant for chilly weather, not for when it froze. How the kid had survived this long, he had no idea.

Adam snorted. No, that wasn't true. He didknow how.

 _God,_ and the sheer force of his father's will.

Shifting his grip, the black-haired man pulled the sides of his own coat around his brother. The kid was intensely hot. At a guess, he'd put Joe's body temperature somewhere around one hundred and one degrees. With what he'd suffered and a knife wound that remained unclean, in all reality it should have been higher. Adam glanced at their surroundings, at the ice and snow everywhere. The cold weather was probably keeping it down. Like someone fevered, packed in ice.

Adam's full lips quirked. One had to look on the bright side of things in order not to go mad.

Their pa had taught them as boys that the first thing to do when caught in the wilderness during a snowstorm was to seek shelter. At this point, in the dark, with no idea what direction he faced, there was no point in moving since he had no idea of the lay of the land. Unless it was to find _better_ shelter. The banks of the ravine they were in might be solid, but they could be dotted with depressions. Maybe even have a shallow cave. The trouble was, he couldn't leave Joe to look for one _or_ take him with him.

It was obvious from his brother's extended silence that Joe was going nowhere.

Adam moved to brace his back on the snowy outcropping of rock behind him. Fortunately, Joe had hit a patch of thick brush that slowed his headlong rush down the ravine's side or he would have crashed into it and God _alone_ knew what damage that would have done. Shifting so his shoulders were pressed into the rock, the black-haired man pulled his kid brother in close and wrapped him as best he could in his arms. Once in position Adam looked down at the boy he had helped to become a man. They had their differences, Joe and him – 'lollapaloozas' as Hoss liked to call them – but in the end they were blood. There was nothing on the face of the Earth that called out to a man like blood. He loved Joe fiercely; as fiercely as he loved his pa and middle brother.

Adam snorted.

Well, maybe he loved Joe just a little bit more, just because the kid was such a pain.

Joe shifted slightly as they settled into place and moaned, calling out their father's name. The sound of his brother's voice brought Adam unmeasured pleasure. It meant he was still alive.

"Hang on kid," he whispered close to Joe's ear. "Pa's on his way, and he'll be mad as the vexed sea if you go ahead of him. You hear me, Joe? You have to hang on!"

His brother moaned again. Maybe it was an answer, he couldn't tell. Then he fell silent again.

After brushing his brother's hot forehead with his lips, Adam leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Yeah, Pa will be mad as the vexing sea if you don't make it," he breathed. "Me?

"I'll just be lost at it."


	15. Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

It was heartbreaking. There were three of them – _three_ able men, well-trained in survival skills, with the ability to track even the faintest signs – and they were lost. Not lost in where they were, but lost as to where to _go_. All about them the world was silent. Night was falling. The moon was risen and its beams turned the white snow to silver and diamonds. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

And inordinately deadly.

"What do we do, Pa?"

Hoss' voice was strained; his question, painful. They knew the facts now. Hop Sing and Roy had told them. They knew now that, not only was Joseph injured, but most likely he was in the hands of a madman who would kill as soon as look at him. Elizabeth and Adam were out there in that deadly white world too.

Somewhere.

Ben closed his eyes and fought the vision from his dream of two of his boys dead or dying; their pale faces swallowed in a wash of white flakes. He wondered about Elizabeth's fate. Had there been a little girl in that nightmare as well, already buried beneath the snow?

The older man shook his head. "I don't know, Hoss. If Adam and Elizabeth were headed for the cave, something must have diverted them. Roy said Little Joe would most likely be riding south. We can't know if that's south and west to escape, or south and east toward the road." He sighed. "Whatever choice we make, it's little more than a guess."

"Mister Adam and Missy Elizabeth look for Little Joe. Be where Little Joe is," Hop Sing offered. "Look for all at once."

It made sense. But then _life_ seldom did.

He gave his old friend a nod. "We can only pray it's so."

"Pa."

Ben turned toward his middle son. Hoss was sitting straight in the saddle and looking south. He turned and looked too. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw something coming; a man, walking through the waves of snow.

"Who do you suppose it is?" Hoss asked.

"Hop Sing know him," the man from China responded, his tone dark. "This man say he man of God, but then he take Little Joe."

Ben looked again. Hop Sing was right.

It was Atticus Godfrey.

Spurring his horse forward, Ben went to meet him. "Where is my son?" he demanded the moment Atticus came within hearing.

The rail-thin man started and then relief washed over his tall frame, nearly toppling him. "Mister Cartwright, thank _God..."_

The older man glanced at his long time friend. Hop Sing looked puzzled.

"Is this the man who was at the house?" he asked him.

"I was." Atticus answered. "I was a part of the scheme to rob your house, Mister Cartwright, I admit it. I took part in kidnapping your son. An act for which I shall be ever deeply ashamed." He drew a steadying breath. "God chose to show me the errors of my ways. That enabled me to help your son escape."

"Where _is_ he then?" Hoss demanded. "Where's Little Joe?"

"Regrettably, I was forced to leave him behind," the reverend admitted as his gaze shifted to the big man. "Your brother was too ill to travel. I left him in a sheltered place and marked the path as best I could so I could return."

"Then you can lead us to Joseph?" Bens heart leapt as hope dawned for the first time in days. "You know where he is?"

"I know where I left him," Atticus said. "I pray God he stayed there."

"And you can take us to him?" Hoss said.

"I certainly hope so." The reverend looked at the sky, at the snow falling and darkness descending. "God willing there is enough time."

 _God_ willing.

"We go now!" Hop Sing insisted. "Go now! Find Little Joe!"

Ben nodded.

God _willing,_ they would find Adam and Elizabeth too.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Elizabeth fought to keep Scout's feet from slipping as they made their way up a low rise. She'd meant to head for the cave, but since the sun had set, she wasn't sure which way she was going. The sky was cloud-covered now, the big old moon was hiding, and there were very few stars so there was no way to gauge whether she was going north, south, east, _or_ west. Scout had nickered a little while back, making her think he'd spotted somethin' he knew. Usually when a horse nickered it meant somethin' like 'Good to see you!' or 'I'm your friend.' She hoped it meant that she and Mister Adam had traveled this way before, though she wasn't sure if that would help since they'd never made it to the cave.

She wasn't sure of much of anything any more.

In fact she was cold and lonely and hungry and so tired it was about all she could do not to fall off the horse. She hadn't traveled very far and she felt pretty bad about that, but it slowed her down to leave a trail. The skirt of the fancy teal-green dress that Mister Ben had bought her and the white petticoats underneath it were ruined. She'd spent the last hour or so tearin' off strips of both and tying them high in bushes and low in the trees. She figured it was just about the only sign the snowstorm couldn't blow away or bury. Her pa had taught her to do that too. Pa was an awful smart man.

She wished he was here.

Hunkerin' down over Scout's shoulders, Elizabeth faced into the cutting wind and pressed on. When they topped the rise, she drew to a halt and sat there, fighting back tears. All there was up here was more bushes and more trees and even _more_ ice and more snow, and she had no better idea of what lay in any direction than she'd had before. The only direction she _was_ sure of was back along the way she'd come.

Little and big brother were layin' back. They were expectin' her to bring help.

Nearly overcome with exhaustion, Elizabeth pressed her heels into Scout's sides and urged him forward. She'd made a promise. She was _gonna_ rescue Mister Adam and Little Joe.

Even if it killed her.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was Hop Sing with his sharp eyes who spotted it first. A speck on the field of white moving ever so slowly toward them. As Ben watched, the speck grew and then stopped. When he turned to Hoss to ask him what he thought it was, his question was cut off by Hop Sing's shout. Ben turned and looked again just in time to see part of the speck fall to the ground.

"Pa," Hoss said, his voice robbed of strength by fear, "I'm thinkin' that's Scout."

In an instant the well-known brown and black thoroughbred came into focus. It _was_ the one belonging to his beloved eldest son. The animal had its nose down. It nudged the figure on the ground, seeming to urge it to rise.

Ben drew in a sharp breath. It _had_ to be Adam. He must have come looking for them. But where was Elizabeth?

And what about Little Joe?

His moment of stunned surprise was short, but it was long enough for Hop Sing to be on the move. His friend and cook was halfway to Scout before Ben got Buck moving, and was off his horse and on the ground by the time he and Hoss arrived with Atticus Godfrey in tow.

Hop Sing turned a distressed face toward them. "It is Missy Elizabeth!"

 _Elizabeth?_

Ben dismounted quickly and knelt by the child's side. As he lifted her small form from its snowy bed he noticed she was shivering. That was a good sign.

"Here, Pa, let me take her," Hoss offered as he and the reverend came alongside him. Hoss was a big man, but there was one thing even bigger – his winter coat!

Hoss undid the buttons before he scooped up the little girl. Picking her up, he nestled her against his warm chest even as Hop Sing wrapped the loose ends of the warm garment around her and tucked it in as best he could. "There," his son said, nodding toward a depression in the ravine wall not too far away, "I'm gonna take her over there."

Ben followed along with the other two men, numbed by the child's discovery. Elizabeth was supposed to have been with Adam.

The shadow of his nightmare arose and nearly unmanned him.

By the time he and Atticus arrived at the shelter, Hoss was already seated and Hop Sing was bent, working to build a fire. His son held the child close, continuing to warm her. Ben bent and reached out to touch her. As he did, Elizabeth stirred and opened her eyes. She looked up at Hoss, around at Hop Sing, and then finally those wide blue eyes came back at him.

A second later she started to cry.

"Come on now, Miss Elizabeth," his giant of a son gently chided, his own eyes tearing. "You'll have me cryin' next."

"Am I dreaming?" the girl asked as her little hand found Hoss' face.

Ben took her other hand. "No. No, sweetheart, we're real. We're all here – Hoss, Hop Sing, even Atticus, and me. You're safe now."

The child smiled a little smile and then sank back toward sleep. Ben hesitated. He wanted to wake her, but felt guilty at doing so. He _needed_ to know about his sons. Whether they were hurt or waited somewhere...

Elizabeth shot up with a start. "You gotta go save Adam and Little Joe!" she exclaimed.

Ben's heart nearly stopped. Squeezing her tiny fingers, he asked, "Elizabeth, do you know where they are?"

To his everlasting joy, she nodded and pointed west. "Back there."

He looked at Hoss. They both knew it. 'There', could be anywhere. Night was falling. They were running out of time. They _needed_ direction.

Feeling like a louse, Ben asked the worn-out child, "Can you take us there?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I don't know. I'm _awful_ tired. I...think I'd just fall off the horse again." Her eyes locked with his. "I left a trail like Pa told me to, Mister Ben. Maybe you could follow that." She caught hold of the hem of her skirts. He noticed now that they were ragged. "I used my petticoats most of the time," the child said, sounding too grown-up. "They're easier to see 'cause of them bein' white. There's green ones in-between."

"Scout can help, Pa," Hoss suggested. "He'll know his way back to Adam."

Ben nodded. "We'll go, sweetheart. Hoss and Hop Sing and me. You can stay here with the reverend." At her wide-eyed look, he added with a smile, "It's okay. He's made things right with God."

Elizabeth turned to look at Atticus. "Really?"

"Really," the reformed man responded as his gaze shifted to her.

The smile the child gave him had the power to light up the night.

Before he rose Ben asked Elizabeth, though he feared the answer, "Were Little Joe and Adam all right when you left them?"

Her little face pinched with worry. "Mister Adam was talkin'. I think he's hurt. I think... I think that bad man shot him."

Ben steadied himself. Adam was _talking_. His oldest son had been conscious and coherent.

Count your blessings, Ben.

"And Joseph?"

She shook her head. "He didn't say nothin', and I couldn't see him on account of his bein' at the bottom of the ravine."

His gaze flicked to his middle son.

"We gotta get movin', Pa," Hoss said as he rose with Elizabeth in his arms and turned her over to the reverend. "They ain't got much time if they're hurt."

"Need go now," Hop Sing agreed, his voice hushed.

Yes, they needed to go and go _now._ Back along the trail Elizabeth left.

Dead or alive, he had to find his sons.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam cursed himself for twenty times a fool. He couldn't _believe_ he'd fallen asleep!

When he opened his eyes on the dark night, fear gripped him. He'd been out for hours and Joe was _so_ quiet in his arms. He'd pressed an ear to his brother's chest and nearly fainted away when he heard his brother's heart beating. The pulse was too fast, though, and thready. He could feel the heat radiating off of him. In spite of the cold, Joe was on fire. Adam chuckled. There was an irony to that, worthy of an epic poem.

They were trapped in a world of snow and ice and his brother was going to burn to death.

Adam shifted forward to survey the domain they occupied. While he'd slept, the snow had continued to fall. It lay on the shoulders and arms of his coat and perched on the rim of his hat. Where it touched his brother's exposed skin, it melted away, but the greater portion – what lay on top of the blanket covering Joe – was nearly half-an-inch thick.

They were slowly and silently being entombed.

The black-haired man leaned his head against the cold stone behind him and shifted, wincing with the pain of his wound as he did. He pulled Joe closer as his lips twisted with another irony. At that moment, he was grateful to Fleet Rowse. _Really_ , he was. If the outlaw hadn't shot him and he'd been able to go on alone... If he'd had to make the _choice_ to abandon Joe to his fate in order to keep himself alive...

He swallowed bile.

No. _No_. Not even to save himself. He _couldn't_ have left his brother behind. He'd told Pa years ago that Joe was his responsibility, that he'd take care of him; that he wouldn't leave him until the kid was old enough and mature enough to make it on his own.

Adam snorted.

Talk about a lifetime commitment!

As he sat there thinking, Joe began to stir. His brother shifted and moaned and then, unexpectedly, began to thrash from side to side. Joe clawed at his hands, trying to break free. He cried out that he was burning up, that he needed to get the blankets – his clothes – off. That he had to get away. He ignored him, of course, and clamped his arms even tighter around his middle. Normally Joe was a spitfire and strong as an ox. The kid was weaker now, but the delirium more than made up for anything his fever had taken away. It was a struggle just to hold him still.

Speaking not loudly but clearly and calmly, Adam explained to the restless boy where they were and what they had to do to stay alive.

"Joe! Listen to me. We're both wounded and lost in the snow. You can't _go_ anywhere!" One hand found his brother's head and turned his face toward him. Joe's eyes were wild. Adam wasn't sure he was still in _this_ world. "Joe," he pleaded, "we have to stay here. We have to wait for Pa to find us. Joe, you have to stop fighting me. Joe!"

His brother didn't hear him. Joe's fingers clutched and pulled at the thin blankets that covered him in an attempt to thrust them off. "Adam? Adam, no! ...can't stay! Have to..." Joe's back arched as she continued to struggle, almost freeing himself. "Get them off me! I'm on _fire!"_

In the end he had to strike Joe on the chin and knock him out.

There were tears in his eyes as he did it.

Breathing hard, Adam clutched his brother's now silent form close and leaned back against the rock wall.

It wasn't going to be long.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Did you hear that?" Hoss asked as he turned toward his father. "Did you hear it?"

The older man was frowning. He nodded. "I heard something."

Hoss peered into the darkness as though somehow he could pierce it. His little brother had a particular high-pitched voice when he started shoutin'. It was mighty hard to miss. Hoss was sure that was what he had just heard.

"I swear it was Little Joe, Pa!"

"Hop Sing?" his father asked, turning toward the China man.

Hoss winced at their cook's expression, which was somewhere between pained and promisin'. He knew how close Hop Sing was with Little Joe. He'd chased the boy down often enough and found him hidin' out in the kitchen, spillin' out his little heart.

"Hop Sing hear it too," he agreed. "But how we know where?"

His father ran a hand over his face. His dark eyes surveyed the cold, silent landscape before them. "Hop Sing's right. They could be anywhere."

It had gotten dark enough they was havin' trouble findin' Miss Elizabeth's markers. They'd followed the little strips of cloth a good two miles so far, heading just about due west. They was comin' up on the area of the ravine, and they all knew that was about as far as they could go tonight without puttin' their own lives in danger.

"What do we do, Pa?" he asked.

"We keep going, as long and as far as we can," his father answered even as he nudged Buck forward. "God grant we find your brothers before we're forced to stop for the night."

They'd brought everythin' with them they thought they might need. His back jockey was stacked with blankets and his saddlebags loaded with dry wood, as well as matches to light both a fire and the lanterns they carried. He glanced at the tin lights dangling from the horn. They hadn't lit one yet. They'd agreed to save the oil for when they found Joe and Adam, figuring they'd need it to rescue them and treat any wounds they had. Hoss scowled at that thought. They already knew Joe was wounded. It'd been near two full days since Rowse had stuck him with his knife and they doubted any one had tended to him in that time. Hop Sing had packed some herbs for healing and dried meat as well in his pack, so he could make a thin soup, and there was plenty of coffee. Pa was carryin' extra water which, frozen as it was, they could heat once the fire was made.

Now, all they had to do was find his brothers.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam opened his eyes, more slowly this time, slightly amazed that he still had the capacity to wake. He shifted, easing the pain in his wounded side, and glanced at his brother.

A thin trail of mist coming from his lips told him Joe was still alive.

The black-haired man reached down and pulled one of the pitiful excuses for a blanket his brother was swaddled in up close about Joe's pale face. Then he settled back and thought about the dream he'd had. He supposed _wishful_ thinking had played a part in it. It had been about a warm, lazy spring day some ten years past. He'd been around twenty-one and at school. There was this particular girl he was courting – a blonde beauty with hair the color of ripened wheat and the widest brown eyes. She'd had a cute little mole at the end of her lips too that jumped when she smiled. Her father had been one of his professors and he'd named her Phaedra after the daughter of Minos in the Greek myths. _He_ called her Faye – which made her laugh – because that's what she was, 'fey'. She was a wisp of a girl and it seemed each time he tried to catch her, she would slip from his grasp like a faerie creature. They'd spent a few grand weeks together and then her father had resigned over a dispute in the department. Within a week, she was gone. They'd exchanged letters for a few months, but then, even those had stopped; vanished just as she had into the mists of time.

Though the dream had dissipated, the mist remained. It hung before him, white instead of a sparkling gray. The hushed, snow-covered landscape really _was_ beautiful. Everything was painted in shades of blue. As it had earlier, the rolling waves of snow once again put him in mind of the sea. His pa had sailed the seas and he longed to follow. He couldn't explain it, but there was something about the sad, silent swells that called to him. Hoss told him once that he was gonna sink beneath those swells.

He thought he might be doing that right now.

Adam checked his brother again. Joe had remained silent since he punched him and that had him worried. Still, he couldn't let him go running off into the frigid night stripping off his clothes. The black-haired man shuddered. He'd seen it happen before. When he was a young man, he and his pa had come upon one of their hands bare-naked and curled up like a baby in the snow. It happened to a man as he began to freeze to death. It felt like he was on fire.

Joe was on fire.

Brushing away snow, he placed his hand over his brother's heart. He could still feel it beating; could feel the warm touch of his brother's breath on his fingers. Still, Joe was weakening.

 _He_ was weakening.

They'd never last the night, and it looked now like no one was going to find them before morning.

The snow had covered him again too. It lay in a thin layer on the shoulders of his golden goat and crusted in his hair. He thought about shaking it off, but decided the effort was useless.

 _All_ effort was useless.

They were going to die.

Adam touched Joe's ice-crusted curls and smiled. The sight of his brother, cradled in his arms, peeled back the years. When Joe was a toddler, he'd often run to his room rather than to their parents' when a sudden storm arose or he heard a bump in the night. He'd hold the little boy close until the terror passed and sometimes – when Joe's small form _refused_ to stop shaking – he'd sing him to sleep. The soothing sound calmed the little boy and made him forget what he feared.

Joe feared death. He knew it. He was so full of life that the thought of being still terrified him.

Maybe if he went to it hearing him sing, he wouldn't _be_ so scared.

Leaning his head back, Adam searched through the file in his head that held all of the tunes he knew. He passed the gay ones, circled around the ones about courting and pretty girls, and finally settled on a sad one he had learned from his father. It was called the 'Sailor's Song'.

Adam cleared his throat and began.

 _Our barque was far, far from the land_

 _When the fairest of our gallant band_

 _Grew deadly pale, and pined away_

 _Like the twilight dawn of an autumn day._

 _We watched him through long hours of pain._

 _Our fears were great, our hopes in vain._

 _Death's call he heard; made no alarm._

 _He smiled and died in his messmate's arms._

 _We had no costly winding sheet._

 _We placed two round shot at his feet_

 _And in his hammock, snug and sound:_

 _A kingly shroud like marble bound._

 _We proudly decked his funeral vest_

 _With a starry flag upon his breast._

 _We gave him this as a badge so brave,_

 _Then he was fit for a sailor's grave._

 _Our voices broke, our hearts turned weak_

 _And tears were seen on the brownest cheek._

 _A quiver played on the lip of pride_

 _As we lowered him down our ship's dark side._

 _A splash, a plunge and our task was o'er_

 _And the billows rolled as they rolled before,_

 _And many a prayer said to the wave_

 _That lowered him in a sailor's grave..._

Adam choked. Tears trailed down his cheek.

Stupid song.

Taking hold of Joe, he pulled him in so tightly until they practically became one.

And closed his eyes again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was the sound of the angels.

Mounted on Buck, Ben turned toward Hoss. There were tears in his eyes. "You heard?"

Hoss had no words. He nodded.

Adam, at least, was alive! They'd heard him singing. There was no mistaking his melodious voice or the tune, which was a mournful one he'd taught him as a boy. The sound brought them to the edge of the ravine. Hop Sing was still holding the strip of Elizabeth's petticoat they'd found tied to a nearby tree branch. It had shone like a beacon against the endless sea of shadows. Ben was hoping he would find his sons huddled together at the top of the gully but, so far, he hadn't spotted them. Turning his face toward the black drop-off before them, he frowned.

Hoss obviously knew the same fear.

"You think they're down there like Elizabeth said, Pa? Down _in_ the ravine?"

It was the only thing that made sense.

As Ben swung out of the saddle, he told his son, "Get my gear. I'm going down."

Hoss caught his arm. "Pa, you oughta let me –"

He _knew_ why Hoss wanted to go first. Adam had fallen silent. The boy was afraid of what he would find.

Ben covered his son's big hand with his own. "Your brothers are not alone. God is with them. His angels will have kept them safe for us."

He said it. He meant it.

But God _help_ him, he didn't believe it.

Closing his eyes, Ben Cartwright mouthed words spoken by another father nearly two thousand years before. The man's child had been demon possessed; the story told in the gospel of Mark. _'Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.'_

A moment later he was slipping and sliding down the side of the ravine.

As his feet touched bottom Ben heard Hoss shout. He looked up and saw a light appear above. Hop Sing had lit one of the lanterns and was already descending. A slight smile touched the older man's lips as he watched his friend negotiate the snowy bank, his arms laden with blankets and who knew what else.

Hop Sing, at least, had decided the search was over.

Hoss and Hop Sing hit the bottom at the same time and took off in opposite directions, walking the line of the frozen creek, calling out Joe and Adam's names. As they did, Ben lit another of the lanterns and began his own search, crossing over the creek and moving to the far bank of the ravine. At first he found nothing and his heart sank. Then, as the light reached out even farther, he recognized something.

The landscape of his dreams.

In the night terror where Adam and Joe were being buried, he'd noticed the boys were slightly sheltered. His eldest son's back had been pressed against a rock wall. Before him, masked in shadows, was just such an outcropping of rock. He would have missed it without the lantern's light and his prior knowledge of what to look for. Even as he heard Hop Sing and Hoss calling out again to Little Joe and Adam, the silver-haired man made his way over to it and found his nightmare come to life.

Only now he recognized that nightmare as an answer to prayer.

"Here!" the older man called even as he knelt and began to brush snow away from the pale faces of his sons.

"Here! I've found them!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam felt a touch on his cheek – a warm caress – and heard a desperate voice calling his name over and over. He wanted to respond, but he couldn't muster the energy. He was so tired, so cold, so...

What?

Someone had touched his arm. A hand was prying at his fingers. Joe was slipping away.

"No!"

Adam sat bolt upright. He clamped his arms around Joe's quiet form and held on for dear life. In his mind's eye death had come. The specter loomed over him, trying to wrench his baby brother from his grasp; seeking to take Joe to that shore from which no one returned.

"No! I _won't...let...you..._ have him!"

"Adam. Adam, son," a tightly-controlled voice said as the hand returned to his face. "Look at me, boy, it's your father. It's Pa."

He blinked and did as he was told. The specter was still faceless, but it had shrunk in size and had silver-white hair.

"No..." he moaned, not giving in.

The man spoke again. "Son, you have to release your brother. Hop Sing has a fire built in a shallow cave. Hoss needs to take Joe there as quickly as possible to warm him. Adam, you have to let him go!"

He clutched tighter and shook his head. Death was gone now, but the sailors had come. They were standing at attention, waiting for his brother's body to be lowered into the cold dark swells that lapped mournfully against the hull of the ship.

"NO! _I won't_ let him go! You won't...toss Joe overboard like trash. I won't let you!"

There was a confused muddle of conversation. Good, he thought. _Good!_ Let them fight. He'd get away. He'd take Joe's body home to Pa. Pa would never forgive him if he couldn't touch Joe one last time.

Pa would _never_ forgive him.

Adam began to sob.

He felt hands on his face – two big ones this time.

"Adam? Older brother, you hear me? It's Hoss. Adam, look at me." The hands moved to his shoulders and shook him gently. "Adam, _look_ at me!"

Adam looked up. He blinked and a big beefy face came into focus. When he recognized his middle brother, he choked.

"Hoss. God. Joe... I _lost_ Joe."

"No, you didn't, brother. You and Miss Elizabeth saved him. You got him right there in your arms."

Hoss' voice was firm and certain. It gave him hope.

"Alive?" he asked.

"Yes, son," another voice said. "You're brother's alive, but we need to get him to shelter. We need to get _both_ of you to shelter. Do you understand?"

His gaze shifted to the man who was speaking. Slowly, the mist cleared from his eyes and Adam saw another large face, this one filled with compassion; its near-black eyes moist with tears.

"Pa?"

His father nodded and smiled a tight-lipped smile. "Yes, Adam. Its me. Now, listen to me, son, you have to let Hoss take Joseph. Your brother's worse off than you. There's no time to waste. We have to get him warm and see to that wound."

Adam shifted and looked down at the precious bundle in his arms. Surrendering Joe would be tantamount to surrendering his soul.

"I'll take him," he said as he started to rise.

Those big hands stopped him. "Adam, there's a right big puddle of red next to your left side. You're hurt and you ain't got the strength. Let me take him." Hoss paused and then said, not in jealousy but in way of explanation, "Little Joe's my brother too."

"It's all right, son," his father said. "You've done your job. Joseph is safe. You _saved_ him."

It was almost more than Adam could do, but at last he gave in. As Hoss took Joe's slender form from his arms and started to walk away, he turned to look at his father. The older man smiled.

"Do you remember how you got here?"

He nodded. "Rowse threw Joe over the edge of the ravine. I came after him." Adam paused. Elizabeth had followed him. The last thing he remembered was her yelling down that she was going for help.

Panicked, he asked, "Elizabeth?"

"She's safe as well, Adam, and probably back at the house by now. Her courage is what brought us to you and your brother." His father smiled again. "That and your singing."

Adam managed a weary smile as well.

And then, accepting that Joe was safe at last and his duty discharged, he passed out.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright rocked back on his heels; worry chiseled into his handsome features. Adam had lost consciousness. He needed to get his son up and out of the cold, but he knew he couldn't do it by himself. He had to be patient. Hoss would return in a moment and together they would move Adam to shelter and safety.

His oldest boy needed tending too.

Shifting, the older man sat beside his son and drew him in close, circling his arm around him and lending Adam his warmth until his brother's return. As he sat there, holding him as he had when he was a little boy, Ben started to hum the song Adam had been singing. He remembered it fondly and not because of the words or tune, which were mournful at best, but because it conjured up images of Inger. They'd had words over it. His beautiful second wife had not approved of him teaching a seaman's lament to the small boy his son had been at the time. While it was true the thrust of the song was one of loss and bereavement, still, it had woven into its lyrics hope as well. It spoke of men's love for one another and trust in the reality of the afterlife; both things he hoped to instill in his child.

 _We watched him through long hours of pain._

 _Our fears were great, our hopes in vain._

 _Death's call he heard; made no alarm._

 _He smiled and died in his messmate's arms._

' _Death's call he heard, made no alarm.'_

He hoped those words had given Adam some small comfort as he sat here in the dark, in the rising snow, holding his younger brother's fevered form, waiting to die.

It was there for all of them. That call.

Lifting his face to the heavens, Ben thanked his loving Father that now had not been his sons' time to answer.


	16. Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Hushed voices awakened him. That and the sound of skirts swishing as several someones moved about his room. Joe laid there a moment, a half-smile on his lips. He recalled that sound with fondness. It reminded him of his mother.

The conversation moved to directly above him.

"Is he awake?"

"I can't tell."

"Should we get his father?"

Someone touched his forehead. The touch of the hand was cool, which was a blessed relief.

"His fever's down."

"Thank the Lord! I feared it would never break."

He really wanted to open his eyes and see who was talkin', but for some reason they didn't want to cooperate. What he was hearin' was mighty puzzling. He didn't remember that many women around the Ponderosa. The only thing he could come up with was that Pa'd gone off and got himself married again while he'd been asleep.

But then, why would there be _two_ of them?

One of the swishers sat on the edge of the bed and reached for him. The bed linens shifted as they did, brushing against his fevered skin. Joe sucked in air.

"There! Did you see that? Go get Ben. I'm sure he's waking up."

There was more swishing of skirts. A door opened. It closed. Whoever was sitting beside him shifted again and this time placed a cool cloth on his forehead.

His eyes liked that. They opened.

He heard a little catch of breath, and then his name. "Joe?"

Yep. That was his name.

"Joseph, look at me."

Wasn't he?

Shifting his eyes was as near as painful as moving his body, but he managed it. He looked at her.

He had no idea who she was.

"Good. Now can you say something?"

Sure he could if he wanted to. He just didn't want to. He wanted to go back to sleep.

So he did.

Only those ladies wouldn't let him stay asleep. One of them was fluffin' his pillows and the other one pullin' up his covers. He remembered then. That was why they didn't have women at the Ponderosa.

They fussed too much.

The hands that were on the blanket froze.

"Mary, he's awake!"

Joe clamped his eyes shut. No, he wasn't.

Not if they were goin' to fuss.

"Ben," he heard one of them call as the skirts swished again. "Ben, come back! Joe's awake."

He'd been ponderin' whether or not he should know Mary, when they threw that other name at him. 'Ben'. He thought he should know that one for some reason.

Ben...

Someone sat beside him. He figured it was Ben because the bed went down. It hadn't done that with the swisher. The man said something and then...then...a hand touched his face. It was followed by a soft kiss on the forehead and gentle words.

"Son. Joseph? Boy, can you hear me?"

Son.

That meant Ben was...

Joe's eyes opened wide to take in a familiar and much loved face. He lifted his hand and reached toward it.

"Pa?"

The older man glanced at the skirt swishers and smiled. "He's awake! Go tell Adam and Hoss." His father turned back to him then. "Joseph, how do you feel?"

He hadn't thought about it. He discovered when he did, that he shouldn't have – thought about it, that was.

Joe swallowed hard. It took a couple of tries, but he managed to croak, "...did...Cochise land...on me?"

"Who's Cochise?" one of the ladies asked.

It was a good question.

"Joseph's horse." The hand touched his hair. "Cochise is fine son. He's been here the whole time you've been away."

 _Had_ he been away? Joe frowned – even though it hurt – and tried to concentrate.

That hurt too.

"Sleep now, son. Shh," his father cooed. "Don't worry about it. It will all come back in time."

He remembered his pa liked giving orders. He liked them to be obeyed even better.

"Yes...sir..." he mumbled.

And did as he was told.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next time he opened his eyes Joe noticed the skirt swishers were gone – that, or they were standing still, which wasn't likely considering they were women. There was something about a man who was injured that seemed to set them into a kind of frenzy. Men would sit beside you so you knew they cared, but they'd leave you to your healin' and bother you only to make sure you were still breathin'.

Like the man beside him was doing now.

The light was different in the room, so he guessed some time had passed. It looked like later afternoon. He wondered what day it was and how long he'd been lyin' in this bed.

Maybe he should call back one of those chatty women.

Whoever was sitting beside him was leaning sideways in their chair. One elbow was propped on the chair arm and their head was resting on their fist. The other arm was bound in a sling. A closed book lay in the man's lap, marked by a finger. Joe frowned when he found his visitor's face out of focus. He was too young to need glasses.

What was goin' on?

With a mighty effort, he narrowed his eyes and squinted. He must have grunted too 'cause the man jerked awake.

He could see his face now. A smile lit it.

"How are you feeling, Joe?" Adam asked. "And don't tell me like Cochise fell on you," he added with a grin.

"How about a mountain?" he answered with a little smile of his own. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," his brother remarked, tight-lipped. Adam put the book down then and leaned forward to place his open palm on his forehead. "You're much cooler. The fever's almost gone."

That was good news, but he was still puzzlin' about why he _had_ a fever. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

A question for a question – ever the perpetual teacher.

Joe scrunched up his nose and twisted his lips and thought hard. "I remember bein' awful cold, but hot at the same time. I remember you shouting at me."

Adam held up a finger. "You've got that wrong. _You_ were definitely shouting at me."

"I was? What about?"

A funny look came across his brother's face. He shook his head. "What else do you remember?"

There was no use pushin' it. Adam was about as immovable as that mountain that fell on him.

Joe thought again. There had to be a reason they were out in the cold. An image formed. Him, lyin' on the ground. A man kicking him in the ribs; holding a gun to his head.

Rowse.

Joe started to shiver.

Adam was on his feet and on the bed in a second. He slipped in behind him and circled him with his good arm. His brother's touch felt good and it hurt like hell.

Rowse's knife. In his shoulder.

That's where this whole thing had begun.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam held his brother's trembling body close. He knew what Joe's next question would be.

He didn't want to answer it.

After their pa and the others found them, they stayed in the shallow cave for the better part of a day. Hoss and the preacher took off the next morning to get a wagon. Hop Sing tended to Joe, heating blankets by placing hot stones on them and then wrapping them around his brother as well as forcing small sips of soup between his chattering lips. It didn't take too long to raise his body temperature, but that was the least of their worries. The man from China had been too slow to hide the look of concern on his face when he first examined Joe's wound. Two days of inattention had marked his brother's flesh with blood trails. The wound was deeply infected.

Joe had screamed and his father been forced to hold him down as Hop Sing cleaned the knife cut as best he could and put on fresh bandages. Then Joe went from hot to cold and from cold to hot more times than he could remember, alternately raving and falling completely still.

All he could do was watch.

His own wound was clean and there was no infection in it, but it and the stress of the last few days kept him rooted to the spot he occupied. He'd tried to get up once when no one was looking and found the empirical data from the experiment told him it was best to stay put. In other words, he passed out, and only his father turning at the right moment and sprinting across the cave kept him from hitting the floor face first.

Hoss and Atticus returned later in the day with the wagon and four other men. It was an arduous task, getting him and Joe up the side of the ravine, but they managed it without complaint. Joe was quiet for most of the ride back to the Ponderosa. _He_ slept for the greater part of it.

In fact, he didn't wake up until he was in his own bed.

Adam had been several days healing. Joe had been a week so far. In that time Elizabeth's parents had arrived and Aurora Guthrie returned. And Roy, well, Roy had come by tonight to give them the bad news. He was downstairs with his father and Atticus Godfrey right now.

Sheriff Roy Coffee had come in his official capacity to tell them that Fleet Rowse had escaped.

Adam looked down at his brother. Joe was very quiet, almost like he sensed the answer to his unspoken question.

"We'll get him, Joe," he said quietly. It was a promise.

Joe didn't look at him. "Rowse?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Rowse."

Roy had been in to question Joe a few days before, hoping something his brother remembered could help in the hunt. Even though Joe had had a lucid moment then and given him a few answers, it hadn't helped. Aurora Guthrie had been little help as well. The poor woman had been so distraught she'd returned as soon as the snow let up and was waiting for them when they arrived. It was a good thing too. Hop Sing had needed all the help he could get. It had been augmented when Elizabeth's parents arrived and her mother took up nearly full-time residence in his brother's bedroom as well.

Since Joe had awakened both women were enjoying some much needed and _well_ merited rest.

Elizabeth's father had joined Roy, Luke, Pa and Hoss in the hunt for Fleet Rowse. Levi was downstairs too. The last he'd seen of the homesteader, the brown-haired man had been sitting in Pa's red chair with his daughter curled up on his lap. Both were fast asleep.

Adam smiled.

She was quite the little woman, that little girl.

He shifted his grip so he was sitting beside Joe more than holding him, sensing his little brother had had about enough of being babied. Heat still radiated from Joe's wound, but it was not nearly so bad as before. He was healing.

They were _all_ healing.

"Adam?"

"Yes, Joe?"

"Did I hear someone say Atticus Godfrey is here?"

So, Joe was done with Rowse – at least with talking about him. "Yes, you heard right. Actually, Roy is here to take him into custody. He let him stay until we knew you'd be all right. Pa's vouched for him. He'll probably get a light sentence."

His brother swallowed. "Can I talk to him before he goes?"

Adam looked down. Joe was pale and there was a sheen of sweat on his lip and brow. "Are you up to it?"

He nodded. "I wanted to...thank him. If he hadn't turned on Rowse when he did, I..."

The sentence ended in an unspeakable impossibility.

They had slowly pulled the truth from Atticus Godfrey as to what he had don; how he had at first aided Rowse and then realized the error of, not only his ways but his choice of business partners. Something Joe had said had triggered reform in the man and he had risked his life to set little brother free. Nevermind that it took others to accomplish it. The man had been willing to _die_ for Joe _._

"I'll send him up when I go down."

"Thanks, Adam."

He sat there a minute longer. Then, he asked, "You okay, kid?"

Joe thought a long time before he answered. When he did, it was honest.

"I'm gettin' there."

So were they all.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In spite of his best efforts, Joe couldn't stay awake. Adam left him sleeping with Hop Sing watching over him and went downstairs to join the other men. The first thing he noticed was that Elizabeth and her father were gone. Pa told him when he asked that Mister Carnaby had taken her up to bed. So that left him, Hoss and Pa, Atticus, Luke and Roy in the room. For six grown men, it was awfully quiet.

That was because another man was missing.

Fleet Rowse.

Roy leaned on the mantel, watching the fire. He stared into it a few minutes before he spoke.

"That mean hombre just up and vanished, Ben," the lawman said. "Once Rowse left Little Joe to freeze to death, he didn't go back to the cave like we'd hoped. He deserted Noyes Runyon. Left that fat businessman sittin' there pretty as a jaybird and lookin' at takin' all the responsibility for the attempted robbery _and_ kidnappin' Little Joe. I can tell you, Runyon started singin' one he realized what the coward had done." He sighed. "It just weren't the tune we wanted to hear."

"What _did_ Noyes have to say, Roy?" Adam asked as he settled in.

The lawman's words were harsh as his feelings. "Only that Rowse was a bastard and a loose cannon, and there was no way of knowin' where he'd went."

"What about Aurora? Did you talk to her again?"

The sheriff nodded. "Pretty gal, that one. Smart too. Brightest thing she ever done was distance herself from that renegade brother of hers." Roy picked up the poker and used it to shove the embers around. "Sorry to say, she don't know nothin' that'll make any difference."

"Fleet Rowse is probably on his way out of the country by now," his father said, his tone grim.

Adam pursed his lips. "If Rowse can't be brought to justice, perhaps that's for the best," he grudgingly admitted.

The older man looked up the stairs and then back at him. "Are you going to tell Joseph that or am _I?"_

Joe had been hurt before, but they'd always caught the man who'd done it. This was new territory for him.

New territory for them all.

"We ain't gonna quit lookin', Ben," Roy assured him. "I just cain't put all my manpower on it. The sheriff's office is shorthanded as it is. We – "

His father moved to place a hand on the lawman's shoulder. "We know, Roy. We know you'll do your best. It's all anyone can ask."

Adam looked at his brother. Hoss was sitting in the other red chair, looking down, with his fingers linked between his knees.

"Hoss, you haven't said much."

The big man started and then looked up. His troubled gaze flicked to their father and then to him. "It just don't seem fair. That man almost killed Little Joe and he's gonna get away scot free!"

"No man who embraces evil without restraint gets off free, son," their father said. "There is such a thing as Divine justice. It will find Fleet Rowse when no man can."

"I guess you're right, Pa," middle brother admitted. "But I'd sure like to _see_ it happen, if you know what I mean."

"I hope not," the older man countered. "I pray that man never darkens Nevada soil again."

Roy Coffee nodded to Luke and then headed for the door. On his way, he caught Atticus Godfrey by the arm. "Come on, Padre. It's time we headed to Virginia City."

Atticus had been perusing one of their father's books. He nodded and put it down.

"Roy," Adam said as he rose. "Can it wait a minute? Joe asked to see the reverend."

The rail-thin man was startled. "What for?" Atticus asked.

He knew, but he was going to leave it to Joe to put it into words. "He just asked me to have you come up before you left."

Roy eyed the stairs. "You think Joe's awake up there?"

Adam shrugged. "If he isn't, he'll wake up. You know Joe, once he's made his mind up there's no stopping him. If you don't let Atticus see him, Roy, Doc Martin will be banging on your door tomorrow morning blaming you for Joe getting out of bed and reopening his wound."

The sheriff threw his hands in the air. "Fine! Keep it short as you can, preacher. I want to make town before dark."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Atticus Godfrey paused outside of Joe Cartwright's room, stricken with remorse. The last time he had been here was when he had cased the house the night before Rowse arrived. It was his fault the villain had gotten in. _His_ fault this boy had been torn from his home and almost died. That a little girl had been dragged through the cold where she might have frozen to death. That Joe's brother Adam had been shot. The rail-thin man blew out a breath. So many sins.

How could he _ever_ be forgiven?

As he stood there, unsure that he should enter, the door opened and Hop Sing stepped out. The Cartwright's cook sized him up and then said, "Little Joe ask for you again. You go inside."

He cleared his throat. "Do you know what he wants?"

"Little Joe know. You go ask him."

He didn't really understand it, but Ben Cartwright and Joe's brothers seemed to be able to overlook the bad he had done and see only the good. Not so this small man with the dark intense eyes. Hop Sing held him accountable for the choices he had made.

He found that a relief.

Atticus nodded. "Very well." Then he stepped inside.

The boy was sitting up in the bed, looking toward the window. He looked better than the last time he had seen him. Of course, that had been on the long road back to the Ponderosa when Joe had still been fevered and out of his head. He was pale and his cheeks sunken in, but his color was much better.

Joe turned when he saw him and he did something surprising.

He smiled.

"Hey, Atticus. Or should I call you 'Reverend'."

He went to the chair beside the bed and sat down. "I'm not officially a man of God anymore. Atticus will do."

"Pa says we're _all_ men of God," Joe countered.

"Well, yes, in that sense." He paused. "What I mean is, I abandoned the cloth when I took up a life of crime."

The boy's piercing green eyes held his. "Did _it_ abandon you?"

He blinked. "What do you mean"

"You're still wearing it," Joe said as he nodded toward his frock coat and collar.

He was. "Out of habit, nothing more."

Little Joe was silent a minute. Then he said, his voice serious. "I don't believe that."

"What do you mean?"

The boy leaned his head back as if the conversation was wearying him. "Some things a man does without thinkin'. Out of habit. Others he does out of choice."

"You mean how I chose to throw my lot in with Fleet Rowse?"

Pain clouded the boy's eyes for a minute. Then he said, "I mean like helping me to live."

"I...I needed to get away. Rowse was unhinged. I knew – "

"I sure hope a man can't go to Hell for rough talking, cause I'm here to tell you that's a load of horse crap!" Joe's lips twisted with a weak smile. "You were willin' to risk dyin' so you could make sure I lived and I wanted to thank you for it."

He was humbled. Almost to the point of losing the power of speech. With tears in his eyes, Atticus Godfrey lifted his head and met the young man's gaze.

"I need to thank you too."

Joe blinked. "Me? What for?"

 _What about God's grace?_ That's what the boy had asked him. The thought brought a smile to the thin man's face.

Out of the mouths of babes.

"Let's just say you reminded me of who I was – and of who God _is_. I didn't save you, Joe, you saved yourself by saving me."

The young man's dark brows peaked. "You're hurtin' my head, Reverend."

A knock on the door turned them both toward it. A second later Roy Coffee appeared. "Well, Little Joe, you're lookin' a sight better than the last time I saw you."

Joe nodded. "I feel a sight better to."

"You about done with this here preacher man? It's time for him to help that former partner of his come to God."

Atticus rose. "I shall endeavor to make Noyes see the error of his ways, but I am afraid it would take a miracle to make him change."

The sheriff's eyes were resting on the boy on the bed. "We seen a couple of those around here lately. Could be we're due for one more."

Before he left, the right reverend Atticus Godfrey held out his hand. When Joe Cartwright took it, he simply said, "Thank you."

Joe nodded and winked. "You're welcome too."


	17. Chapter 17

EPILOGUE

When Joe woke the next time there was no swishing going on. He didn't hear one hushed conversation or concerned 'tick' of someone's tongue. It was dark, so he figured it was the middle of the night and he must be well enough that he'd finally been left alone. There was nothing like knowin' the people around you loved you and wanted to make sure you were okay, but all that fussin' did wear on a body after a while. Sometimes you just needed to be left alone with –

He heard a sigh.

 _Dang it!_ Someone _was_ there. Hiding in the shadows.

Joe debated on whether or not to open his eyes and see who it was. He'd had just about all the _caring_ he could take. If Aurora Guthrie or Mary Carnaby tucked him in _one more time_...

Whoever it was sighed again.

Well, there was nothing for it. _That_ was gonna keep him away for a month of Sundays.

Joe opened his eyes and looked at the chair that was usually occupied by a worry-faced Pa or Hoss or Adam.

It was empty.

He frowned and looked around the room and then finally he saw her, standing by the window looking out.

Elizabeth.

"Hey, Bella," he said, surprised by how weak his voice sounded.

Her head came up and she turned and stepped into a beam of moonlight. Standing there – for just a second – he saw the woman she would become. That made _him_ sigh. The feelin' was funny, kind of proud and sad and empty at one and the same time. He supposed it was the way parents felt when they knew their little girl or boy would be grown soon and wouldn't need them anymore.

He'd have to remember to give Pa a hug when he saw him.

She came to his side and stood there looking down at him, but she didn't say anything. He could see her wide blue eyes sparkling in the dark.

She'd been crying.

Lifting a hand, he reached out to her. When she took it, he asked, "Hey, Bella. What's wrong?"

Her little mouth opened and then clamped shut. Her blonde curls bounced as she shook her head.

She must be worried that she was gonna get in trouble for being out of bed in the middle of the night. Or maybe for being in his room.

Joe managed a grin. "I won't tell anyone you're here. Fact is, I'll cover for – "

"That ain't it!" she snapped and then sniffed. A tear escaped to trail down her cheek. "I don't _care_ if Ma or Pa get angry. I had to..."

"Had to what?" His brown brows peaked.

Her voice was small. "See that you were _really_ okay." Elizabeth drew in a great gulp of air. "I saw you when they brought you in. I was in the house with the Reverend." Her hand crept out to touch his face. He felt her shudder. "I thought...I thought you were dead."

Joe was puzzled. "You ain't seen me since then?"

She shook her head. "First Doctor Martin said I couldn't. He said I was too tired and you were too tired. Then, when I wasn't tired anymore, he said he needed everyone to leave him alone, only that didn't count for anyone but me since I saw them all comin' in and out of your room day and night."

"Didn't your Ma tell you I was mending?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Grown-ups lie to little kids when they think they ain't old enough to understand somethin'."

Joe shifted and pulled himself up painfully into a seated position. The knife wound was still pounding at times. He sucked in air and swallowed the moan and then smiled at her. "Well, here I am, sittin' up and lookin' pretty." Joe held her pensive gaze. "I'm fine. Really."

Elizabeth blinked. She nodded.

And then she dissolved into tears.

"Hey, hey. Hey!" Now he had _another_ apology to make to Pa. How did his father stand it when he did the same thing? "Come on. Don't cry."

She drew in seven or eight small breaths through her nose and wailed, "I...can't...help...it!"

It took about everything that was in him, but Joe sat up and reached out and took hold of both her arms and pulled her onto the bed, rolling her over his legs so she was lodged up against his right side. For a few minutes he just held her, feeling her little body shake; feeling her tears wet his nightshirt. Again, it put him in mind of his Pa and brothers doing to same thing for him on, oh, _so_ many nights.

When the storm had subsided, he asked quietly, "Now, you gonna tell me what this is all about?"

She shuddered again and drew in closer, wrapping her arms around his middle. "I thought...I thought I killed you."

Joe was so stunned, he didn't know what to say. "Killed... _killed_ me?"

Her blonde head nodded against him.

He thought furiously. How? _Why?_ There wasn't anything she'd done.

"Bella – now, I ain't makin' fun of you – but that's silly. You didn't hurt me – "

She sat straight up. "Yes, I did!"

It was amazing how quickly her sadness turned to cute little belligerent anger. Joe hid his smile. She really _was_ like him!

"Now just how'd you do that?" he asked. "If I recollect rightly, it was that man," – he wouldn't say the outlaw's name, _couldn't_ yet – "that put a knife in my shoulder and then dragged me out into the snow that almost killed me." His voice fell as fear gripped his stomach. "He could've killed you too," he added softly.

"But that's just it! If I hadn't _been_ here – if I hadn't come to visit – then you would have just taken that bad man out and he wouldn't never have taken you!"

He was havin' to hide an awful lot of smiles. "Oh. Is that right?"

The little girl scowled and crossed her arms. "Yes!"

"Well, let's see, as I recall that night you and me and Hop Sing and Aurora were all here, right?"

"So..."

"So... Hop Sing had been taken captive and Aurora was in trouble before I even _came_ downstairs. And you were in bed? Right?"

She nodded. Reluctantly.

He held her tear-filled gaze; his own as serious as he could manage. "So, you're sayin' I _wouldn't_ have done the same thing for either of them? Given myself up, I mean?"

He watched that information work its way through her brain.

"Well...no..." she sniffed.

"No." He gave her his best 'Pa' face. "So now, let's forget this nonsense, shall we?"

Elizabeth pursed her lips, trying to fight a smile.

" _Shall_ we?" she asked.

He frowned. "What? You think I don't know fancy words like 'shall'?" Truth was he knew it, but didn't use it. Pa and Adam did. "I know others ones too." He pinned her with his green eyes. "Now, we _shan't_ go on behaving like our best friend has just passed. That would be..." He thought a second. "That would be quite _improvident_ , now wouldn't it?"

She lost the battle.

For a moment, the little girl just sat there grinning. "You're awful funny, little brother." She fell silent for a moment and then, she surprised him again as tears started flowing down her cheeks once more.

"I thought 'funny' was good," he said, completely at a loss. "Isn't it?"

Elizabeth nodded. Then she reached out to ever so gently touch his face. "There's no one like you, little brother."

Her jaw was tight. Her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. There was snot drippin' from her nose and tears running down her cheeks.

She was about the most _beautiful_ thing he had ever seen.

Joe put his hand over hers.

"There's no one like you either, Bella. Thanks for takin' care of me."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the end Elizabeth and her parents remained at the Ponderosa throughout the winter. The Carnabys and the Cartwrights had a wonderful and riotous time. They celebrated Christmas and brought in the New Year together, enjoying both Elizabeth and little Jack's wonder and joy. The weeks after that flew quickly and soon it was March and time for them all to go home.

Joe Cartwright tilted his hat back and looked at the sky as he rubbed his shoulder, easing the grip of the healed muscles there. The day had dawned bright and sunny. Spring was on its way. It was March and already there were small bits of happy green poking through the brown woes of winter. It was midday. The Carnabys had intended to leave in the morning but Jack had managed to get away from them, and all of them – him, Hoss, Adam, Levi, Mary, _and_ Elizabeth had spent several hours searching the ranch house and the surrounding area over with no luck. Finally, it was Hoss who found the little boy. His middle brother had picked up a stray pup out on the trail and Jack was hiding with it inside of a turned-over barrel. His parents didn't have to scold him. The little boy got a tongue-lashing from his older sister that would have had _him_ high-tailing it for that wagon.

The little boy was in place now – so was the pup – and Pa was saying goodbye to Levi. It had been plain fun to watch the two older men together. Joe grinned. Pa had turned to him once and told him that, if he ever became a father, he expected him to be a lot like Levi.

That was a compliment!

Joe turned and looked toward door They were waiting for Elizabeth to appear. As he stood there, he couldn't help but consider the events that swept in with her arrival. Some were settled now. Others were not. Pa had paid Aurora for the time he had hired her, even though she hadn't got to work it all out. She'd protested, but Pa insisted. The pretty lady took that money and went back East to live where her people were. Atticus Godfrey had served a month in Roy's jail and been released. Pa'd seen to it and Roy hadn't protested since the good Atticus had done – saving his life – had outdone the wrong choices he'd made. He was gonna go back to bein' a preacher.

He'd make a good one.

Noyes Runyon was sent off to prison on his testimony alone, since he was the only one who knew for sure that Noyes was as guilty as...

Joe swallowed. He could say the name now, but it still wasn't easy.

As Fleet Rowse.

Roy'd been out a couple of days before. The last word was that a sheriff friend of his thought he'd seen Rowse with some men in his town. When he questioned them later, they said they were heading for Mexico.

"Good riddance," Joe snorted.

And almost meant it.

"Joseph?"

He looked up. "Yeah Pa?"

"Why don't you go see what is keeping Elizabeth?"

"Sure thing."

He found the little girl in the great room, sitting on the settee.

Elizabeth was dressed in her going-away outfit. He'd taken her into town and bought it for her a few days back. As he sat there, watching the dress lady fuss over her, he couldn't help but notice how much she had grown. Elizabeth had turned twelve during her stay and he thought she was about an inch taller. Her face was a little thinner, her arms and legs longer, and her chest puffed out her dress bodice just a little bit more. It wouldn't be long and she would be a woman.

Joe shook his head and blew out a breath, letting her know he was there.

"Hey, Bella," he said, his tone light and his heart heavy, "your ma and pa are waiting."

Her blonde head bobbed.

She was sniffin' again.

Joe crossed to stand in front of her and then crouched before the settee. "Hey," he said again as he reached out and lifted her chin to look into her tearful eyes, "don't be so sad. I'm comin' to visit you at the end of the summer."

"That's a long time away," she said.

He didn't deny it. "I know. Its just I got an awful lot of things to do between now and then. Roping, riding, cattle drives, and all."

She chewed her lower lip as her giant blue eyes found his. "I wish I could stay with you."

Joe got up and sat beside her on the settee. He took her hand in his. "Well, now, Bella, I'd like that too, but it just ain't possible."

"Hop Sing could look after me."

He nodded. "He could. But who'd look after Jack?"

She sniffed again. "Jack's got Ma and Pa."

"Okay. But you know, even though I haven't got a ma, I do have a pa. Still, I need my big brothers." He sure hoped Adam or Hoss weren't listenin' at the door, they'd never let him live this down. "I need them to keep me in line, to make sure I do what I'm told to," he paused, "and to whup me good when I don't." He didn't look at her, but went on. "And you gotta think about Jack, leavin' him all alone with your ma and pa without anyone to, well," Joe winced, "back him up when he needs backin' up, and hide him out 'til they cool off."

"He's got Scamp now."

That was Hoss' pup. Hoss said he'd named him after him.

"You think Jack can look out for Scamp when _he_ gets in trouble?"

"I 'spose not."

"Well, you _'spose_ right. You're the best big sister a feller could ever have." He paused. "Bella, look at me."

She hadn't been looking at him. She did now.

Joe raised a hand and laid it alongside her face. "You saved my life." He grinned. "Twice!"

"The first time didn't count, " she said, scrunching up her nose.

"Even if I give you _that_ ," he replied, "once is more than enough, don't you think?"

Elizabeth looked down again, at her fingers which were entwined and laying on the lap of her sapphire blue dress.

"What?" he asked.

"But..." She drew in a breath and looked right at him. "That's the problem! _You_ need me more than Jack. You get into more _trouble!"_

The snickering told him he'd been had. Hoss and Adam _were_ listening at the door.

As if on cue, the two of them entered.

Joe sighed.

"Hey there, Elizabeth, your ma and pa are anxious to get on their way. They figured you just might run off with little brother here, so they sent us in to get you afore you could," Hoss said with a wink.

"That's right," Adam remarked, his lips quirking. "Pa sent us in for _you_ too, Little Joe."

He stood up. "For me? What'd I do?"

"Amazing, isn't it?" his older brother asked. "How he always assumes he's done something wrong?"

"That's because he usually _has_ ," Hoss smirked.

"Hey, you two! Stop pickin' on me in front of my best girl," Joe snapped.

That put a gag in their mouths for sure.

Joe turned to Elizabeth. "You see? Look at the two of them. I'm in..." He glanced at his brothers who looked way too much like turkeys with their breasts puffed out. "...I'm in good hands until I see you again."

"We ain't gonna let nothin' happen to little brother," Hoss assured her as the door opened and their father joined them. The older man waited by it.

Adam nodded his agreement and then added, "Jack's asking for you, Elizabeth. He needs help with Scamp."

Elizabeth looked at them and then back to Joe. "You're really comin' at the end of the summer?"

"Sure am," he grinned.

"And you mean it? I am your _best_ girl?"

Joe saw his father's wary look. He met it with a smile. He knew what his pa wanted him to say, but he had to be true to himself and to Elizabeth. Taking her hands in his, he held her cobalt stare.

"You're my best one, Bella, hands down, no question."

She cocked her head. "You still gonna wait for me to grow up so I can marry you?"

Joe placed his hand on her head. "Well, now, how about we check back on that in four or five years. Who knows, by then you might have another feller." At her dubious look, he added, "You know what, Bella, it's nice to have a best girl you're courtin', but its a whole lot better to have one who's your best _friend_."

Joe knelt and she fell into his arms.

"I love you, Little Joe," she whispered in his ear.

So low no one could hear it but her, he confessed, "Bella, I love you too."


End file.
